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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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of  tl 
film 


Orig 

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sion 

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or  il 


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Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  matariel  suppl^mentaire 


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Map 
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righ 
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10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

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v^ 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

^m£ 


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or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ♦-  (meaning  "CON- 
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method: 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derni^re  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ♦■  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signitie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  gtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

wmFj"- 


Y 


J. 


YANKEE   IN   CANADA, 


WITH 


ANTI-SLAVERY   AND   REFORM 
PAPERS. 


BY 


HENRY    D.    THOREAU, 

AUTHOR    OF    "  A    WEEK   ON    THE   CONCORD    AND    MERRIMACK    RIVERS," 
"WALDEN,"    "cape    COD,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


BOSTON: 

T  I  C  K  N  O  R     AND     FIELDS 

1866. 


141383 


Ent(  red  according  to  Act  of  Confrress,  in  the  year  1S66,  by 

T  I  C  K  N  O  R     A  N  D     FIELDS, 

iu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Univhrsitv  Press:  Wei.c}{,  Bigei-ow,  &  Co., 

C.\M  BRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA 

Chap.  I.     Concord  to  Montreal  . 

II.       QUEIJEC    AND    SIONTiMORENCI 

III.  St.  Anne    . 

IV.  The  Walls  of  Qdedec      .         .        .         . 
V.     The  Scenery  of  Quebec  ;  and  the  River 

St.  Lawrence    . 


PAOB 

I 

.3 
18 
37 

«4 


ANTI-SLAVERY  AND   REFORM   PAPERS 
Slavery  in  Massachusetts 

Prayers      

Civil  Disobedience 

A  Plea  for  Captain  John  Brown 

Paradise  (to  be)  regained         .... 

Herald  of  Freedom 

Thomas  Carlyle  and  his  Works 

Life  witiioct  Principle 

Wendell  Phillips  bkkoke  the  Concord  LvrnrM 
The  Last  Days  of  Jomv  Brown   . 


97 
117 
1 2.S 

1 52 

182 

2()t] 

211 

248 

274 

278 


with 

TIES, 


Ai 
1632 
the  1 
who 


A   YANKEE    IN    CANADA. 


"New  Enjrlancl  is  by  some  amrmM  to  bo  an  islaml,  bnnndpd  on  tho  north 
with  the  llivL-r  Canada  (so  culk'd  from  Monsieur  Cauc)."  — Josselyn's  IIare- 

TIKS. 


And  still  older,  in  Thomas  Morton's  "New  English  Canaan,"  published  in 
1632,  it  is  sai.l,  on  pape  97,  "  From  this  Lake  [Eroeoise]  Northwards  is  derived 
the  famous  River  of  Cana.la,  so  named,  of  Monsier  de  Cane,  a  French  Lord, 
who  tirst  idaiited  a  Colony  of  French  in  America." 


^# 


CHAPTER    I. 


C  O  N  C  O  II  D     TO     MONTREAL. 


I  FEAR  that  I  liavc  not  got  much  to  say  about  Canada, 
not  having  seen  much  ;  what  I  got  by  going  to  Canada 
was  a  cohl.  I  left  Concord,  Massachusetts,  Wednesday 
morning,  September  '2.>tli,  1850,  for  Quebec.  Fare,  seven 
dollars  there  and  back  ;  distance  from  Boston,  five  hun- 
dred an<l  ten  miles  ;  being  obliged  to  leave  ISIontreal  on 
the  return  as  soon  as  Friday,  October  4th,  or  within 
ten  days.  I  will  not  stop  to  tell  the  reader  the  names 
of  my  fellow-travellers ;  there  were  said  to  be  fifteen 
hundred  of  them.  I  wished  only  to  be  set  down  in 
Canada,  and  take  one  honest  walk  there  as  I  might  in 
Concord  woods  of  an  afternoon. 

The  country  was  new  to  me  beyond  Fitchburg.  In 
Ashl)urnham  and  afterward,  as  we  were  whirled  rapidly 
along,  I  noticed  the  woodbine  {Ampelopsis  quinqnefolid), 
its  leaves  now  changed,  for  the  most  part  on  dead  trees, 
draping  them  like  a  red  scarf.  It  was  a  little  exciting, 
suggesting  bloodshed,  or  at  least  a  military  life,  like  an 
ei)aulet  or  sash,  as  if  it  were  dyed  with  the  blood  of  the 
trees  whose  wounds  it  was  inadequate  to  stanch.  For 
now  the  bhjody  autumn  was  come,  and  an  Indian  war- 
fare was  waged  through  the  forest.  These  military  trees 
appeared  very  numerous,  for  our  rapid  progress  connect- 
ed those  that  were  even  some  miles  apart.  Does  the 
woodbine  prefer  the  elm  ?  The  first  view  of  IMonadnoc 
was  obtained  five  or  six  miles  this  side  of  Fitzwilliam, 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


\ 


but  nearest  and  best  at  Troy  and  beyond.  Tlien  there 
were  the  Troy  cuts  and  embankments.  Keene  Street 
strikes  the  traveller  favorably,  it  is  so  wide,  level, 
straight,  and  long.  I  have  heard  one  of  my  relati\es, 
who  was  born  and  l)red  there,  say  that  you  could  see  a 
chicken  run  across  it  a  mile  off.  I  have  also  been  told 
that  when  this  town  was  settled  they  laid  out  a  street 
four  rods  wide,  but  at  a  subsequent  meeting  of  the 
proprietors  one  rose  and  remarked,  "  "We  have  plenty 
of  land,  why  not  make  the  street  eight  rods  wide?" 
and  so  they  voted  that  it  should  be  eight  rods  wide,  and 
the  town  is  known  far  and  near  for  its  handsome  street. 
It  was  a  cheap  way  of  securing  comfort,  as  well  as  fame, 
and  I  wish  that  all  new  towns  would  take  pattern  from 
this.  It  is  best  to  lay  our  plans  widely  in  youth,  for 
then  land  is  cheap,  and  it  is  but  too  easy  to  contract  our 
views  afterward.  Youths  so  laid  out,  with  broad  ave- 
nues and  parks,  that  they  may  make  handsome  and  lib- 
eral old  men!  Show  me  a  youth  whose  mind  is  like 
some  "Washington  city  of  magnificent  distances,  prepared 
for  the  most  remotely  successful  and  glorious  life  after 
all,  when  tht)se  spaces  shall  be  built  over  and  the  idea  of 
the  founder  be  realized.  I  trust  that  every  New  Eng- 
land boy  will  begin  by  laying  out  a  Keene  Street  through 
his  head,  eight  rods  wide.  I  know  one  such  Washing- 
ton city  of  a  man,  whose  lots  as  yet  are  only  surveyed 
and  staked  out,  and  except  a  cluster  of  shanties  here  and 
there,  only  the  Capitol  stands  there  for  all  structures,  and 
any  day  you  may  see  from  afar  his  princely  idea  borno 
coachwise  along  the  spacious  but  yet  empty  avenue?. 
Keene  is  built  on  a  remarkably  large  and  level  interval, 
like  the  bed  of  a  lake,  and  the  surrounding  hills,  which 
are  remote  from  its  street,  must  afford  some  good  walks. 


m 


c 
e 

a 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


m 


Tlie  scenery  of  mountain  towns  is  commonly  too  much 
crowded.  A  town  which  is  built  on  a  plain  of  some 
extent,  with  an  open  horizon,  and  surrounded  by  hills 
at  a  distance,  aflbrds  the  best  walks  and  views. 

As  we  travel  northwest  up  the  country,  sugar-ma[)les, 
beeches,  birches,  hemlocks,  spruce,  butternuts,  and  ash 
trees  prevail  more  and  more.  To  the  ra])id  traveller 
the  number  of  elms  in  a  town  is  the  measure  of  its 
civility.  One  man  in  the  cars  has  a  bottle  full  of  some 
liquor.  The  whole  company  smile  whenever  it  is  ex- 
liibited.  I  find  no  difficulty  in  containing  myself.  The 
"Westmoreland  country  looked  attractive.  I  heard  ii 
pas-enger  giving  the  very  obvious  derivation  of  this 
name,  West-more-land,  as  if  it  were  purely  American, 
and  he  had  made  a  discovery;  but  I  thought  of  "my 
cousin  "Westmoreland  ''  in  England.  Every  one  will 
rem(.'mber  the  ap})roacli  to  Bellows  Falls,  under  a  high 
cliff  which  rises  from  the  Connecticut.  I  was  disap- 
pointed in  the  size  of  the  river  here  ;  it  ai)peared  shrunk 
to  a  mere  mountain  stream.  The  water  was  evidently 
very  low.  The  rivers  which  we  had  crossed  this  fore- 
noon possessed  more  of  the  character  of  mountain 
t-trcams  than  those  in  the  vicinity  of  Concord,  and  I 
was  surprised  to  see  everywhere  traces  of  recent  fresh- 
ets, w  hich  had  carried  away  bridges  and  injured  the  rail- 
road, though  I  had  heard  nothing  of  it.  In  Ludlow, 
Mount  Holly,  and  beyond,  there  is  interesting  moun- 
tain scenery,  not  rugged  and  stupendous,  but  such  as 
you  could  easily  ramble  over,  —  long  narrow  mountiin 
vales  through  which  to  see  the  horizon.  You  are  in 
the  midst  of  the  Green  Mountains.  A  few  more  ele- 
vated blue  peaks  are  seen  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Mount  Holly,  perhaps  Killington  Peak  is  one.     Some- 


6 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


M   '. 


times,  as  on  the  Western  Railroad,  you  are  whirled  over 
mountainous  embankments,  from  which  the  scared  horses 
in  the  valleys  a[)pear  diminished  to  hounds.  All  the 
hills  blush  ;  I  think  that  autumn  must  be  the  best  season 
to  journev  Dver  even  the  Green  Mountains.  You  fre- 
quently exclaim  to  yourself,  what  7'ed  maples  !  The 
sugar-maple  is  not  so  red.  You  see  some  of  the  latter 
with  rosy  spots  or  cheeks  only,  blushing  on  one  side 
like  fruit,  while  all  the  rest  of  tlie  tree  is  green,  proving 
either  some  partiality  in  the  light  or  frosts,  or  some 
prematurity  in  particular  branches.  Tall  and  slender 
ash-trees,  whose  foliage  is  turned  to  a  dark  mulberry 
color,  are  frequent.  The  butternut,  which  is  a  remark- 
ably spreading  tree,  is  turned  completely  yellow,  thus 
proving  its  relation  to  the  hickories.  I  was  also  struck 
by  the  bright  yellow  tints  of  the  yellow-birch.  The 
sugar-raaple  is  remarkable  for  its  clean  ankle.  The 
groves  of  these  trees  looked  like  vast  forest  sheds, 
their  branches  stopi)ing  short  at  a  uniform  height,  four 
or  five  feet  from  the  ground,  like  eaves,  as  if  they  had 
been  trimmed  by  art,  so  that  you  could  look  under  and 
through  the  whole  grove  with  its  leafy  canopy,  as  under 
a  tent  whose  curtain  is  raised. 

As  you  approach  Lake  Champlain  you  begin  to  see 
the  New  York  mountains.  The  first  view  of  the  Lake 
at  Vergennes  is  impressive,  but  rather  from  association 
than  from  any  peculiarity  in  the  scenery.  It  lies  there 
so  small  (not  appearing  in  that  proportion  to  the  width 
of  the  State  that  it  does  on  the  nnq)),  but  beautifully 
quiet,  like  a  picture  of  the  Lake  of  Lucerne  on  a  music- 
box,  where  you  trace  the  name  of  Lucerne  among  the 
foliage ;  far  more  ideal  than  ever  it  looked  on  the  map. 
It  does  not  say,  "  Here  I  am,  Lake  Champlain,"  as  the 


,fl 

I 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


struck 
The 


0  see 
Lake 
It  i  oil 
there 
ntltli 
r.illy 
u.sic- 

tlie 
tuap. 

the 


conductor  might  for  it,  but  liaving  studied  the  geography 
thirty  years,  you  crossed  over  a  hill  oue  afterpoon  and 
beheld  it.  But  it  is  only  a  gli?npse  that  you  get  here. 
At  Burlington  you  rush  to  a  wharf  and  go  on  board  a 
steamboat,  two  hundred  and  thirty-two  miles  from  Bos- 
ton. We  left  Concord  at  twenty  minutes  before  eight 
in  the  morning,  and  were  in  Burlington  about  six  at 
night,  but  too  late  to  see  the  lake.  We  got  our  first 
fair  view  of  the  lake  at  dawn,  just  before  reaching 
Plattsburg,  and  saw  blue  ranges  of  mountains  on  either 
hand,  in  New  York  and  in  Vermont,  the  former  espe- 
cially grand.  A  few  white  schooners,  like  gulls,  were 
seen  in  the  distance,  for  it  is  not  waste  and  solitary  likq 
a  lake  in  Tartary ;  but  it  was  such  a  view  as  leaves  not 
much  to  be  said ;  indeed,  I  have  postponed  Lake  Cham- 
plain  to  another  day. 

The  oldest  reference  to  these  waters  that  I  have  yet 
seen  is  in  the  account  of  Cartier's  discovery  and  explo- 
ration of  the  St.  Lawrence  in  1535.  Samuel  Cham- 
plain  actually  discovered  and  paddled  up  the  Lake  in 
July,  1609,  eleven  years  before  the  settlement  of  Plym- 
outh, accompanying  a  war-party  of  tl»e  Canadian  Indians 
against  the  Iroquois.  He  describes  the  islands  in  it  as 
not  inhabited,  although  they  are  pleasant,  —  on  account 
of  the  continual  wars  of  the  Indians,  in  consequence  of 
which  they  withdraw  from  tiie  rivers  and  lakes  into  the 
depths  of  the  land,  that  they  may  not  be  surprised. 
"  Continuing  our  course,"  says  he,  "  in  this  lake,  on 
the  western  side,  viewing  the  country,  I  saw  on  the 
eastern  side  very  high  mountains,  where  there  was 
snow  ou  the  summit.  I  inquired  of  the  savages  if 
those  places  were  inhabited.  They  replied  that  they 
were,  and  that  they  were  Iroquois,  and  that  in  those 


■i 


8 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


;  W  I 


places  there  were  beautiful  valleys  and  plains  fertile 
in  corn,  such  as  I  have  eaten  in  this  country,  with  an 
infinity  of  other  fruits."  This  is  the  earliest  account  of 
what  is  now  Vermont. 

The  number  of  French  Canadian  gentlemen  and 
ladies  among  the  passengers,  and  the  sound  of  the 
French  language,  advertised  us  by  this  time  that  we 
were  being  whirled  towards  some  foreign  vortex.  And 
now  we  have  left  Rouse's  Point,  and  entered  the  Sorel 
River,  and  passed  the  invisible  barrier  between  the 
States  and  Canada.  The  shores  of  the  Sorel,  Riche- 
lieu, or  St.  John's  River,  are  flat  and  reedy,  where  I 
had  expected  something  more  rough  and  mountainous 
for  a  natural  boundary  between  two  nations.  Yet  I 
saw  a  ditlerence  at  once,  in  the  few  huts,  in  the  pirogues 
on  the  shore,  and  as  it  were,  in  the  shore  itself.  Tiiis 
was  an  interesting  scenery  to  me,  and  the  very  reeds  or 
rushes  in  the  shallow  water,  and  the  tree-tops  in  the 
swamps,  have  left  a  pleasing  impression.  We  had  still 
a  distant  view  behind  us  of  two  or  three  blue  mountains 
in  Vermont  and  New  York.  About  nine  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon  we  reached  St.  John's,  an  old  frontier  post 
three  hundred  and  six  miles  from  Boston  and  twenty- 
four  from  Montreal.  We  now  discovered  that  we  were 
in  a  foreign  country,  in  a  station-house  of  another 
nation.  This  building  was  a  barn-like  structure,  look- 
ing as  if  it  were  the  work  of  the  villagers  combined,  like 
a  log-house  in  a  new  settlement.  My  attention  was 
caught  by  the  double  advertisements  in  French  and 
English  fastened  to  its  posts,  by  the  formality  of  the 
English,  and  the  covert  or  open  reference  to  their  queen 
and  the  British  lion.  No  gentlemanly  conductor  ap- 
peared, none  whom  you  would  know  to  be  the  conduc- 


1 


CONCORD  TO  .AIONTREAL. 


9 


IS  fertile 
with  an 
:ount  of 

len   and 
of  the 
that  we 
c.    And 
e  Sorel 
sen   the 
Riche- 
ivhere  I 
itainous 
Yet  I 
lirogues 
.     This 
•eeds  or 
in  the 
d  still 
ntains 
in  the 
post 
[venty- 
vvere 
liother 
look- 
t,  like 
was 
and 
If  the 
ueen 
ap- 
Iduc- 


tor  by  Ills  clrcss  and  demeanor ;  but  erelong  we  began 
to  see  here  and  there  a  solid,  red-faced,  bnrly-looking 
Englishman,  a  little  pursy  perhaps,  who  made  us 
ashamed  of  ourselves  and  our  thin  and  nervous  coun- 
trymen,—  a  grandfatherly  personage,  at  home  in  his 
great-coat,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  stage  pro- 
prietor, certainly  a  railroad  director,  and  knew,  or  had 
a  right  to  know,  when  the  cars  did  start.  Then  there 
were  two  or  three  pale-faced,  black-eyed,  loquacious 
Canadian  French  gentlemen  there,  shrugging  their 
shoulders ;  pitted  as  if  they  had  all  had  the  small-pox. 
In  the  mean  while  some  soldiers,  red-coats,  belonging 
to  the  barracks  near  by,  were  turned  out  to  be  drilled. 
At  every  important  point  in  our  route  the  soldiers 
showed  themselves  ready  for  us ;  though  they  were 
evidently  rather  raw  recruits  here,  they  mancx'uvred 
far  better  than  our  soldiers ;  yet,  as  usual,  I  heard  some 
Yankees  talk  as  if  they  were  no  great  shakes,  and 
they  had  seen  the  Acton  Blues  manoeuvre  as  well. 
The  officers  spoke  sharply  to  them,  and  appeared  to 
be  doing  their  part  thoroughly.  I  heard  one- suddenly 
coming  to  the  rear,  exclaim,  "  Michael  Donouy,  take  his 
name ! "  though  I  could  not  see  what  the  latter  did  or 
omitted  to  do.  It  was  whispered  that  INIichael  Donouy 
would  have  to  suffer  for  that.  I  heard  some  of  our 
party  discussing  the  possibility  of  their  driving  these 
troops  oft'  the  field  with  their  umbrellas.  I  thought 
that  the  Yankee,  though  undisciplined,  had  this  advan- 
tage at  least,  that  he  especially  is  a  man  who,  ever}- where 
and  under  all  circumstances,  is  fully  resolved  tp  better 
his  condition  essentially,  and  therefore  he  could  aflbrd 
to  be  beaten  at  first ;  while  the  virtue  of  the  Irishman, 
and  to  a  great  extent  the  Englishman,  consists  in  merely 


il 


10 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


i  l| 


I 


!i 


maintaining  his  ground  or  condition.  The  Canadians 
here,  a  rather  poor-hooking  race,  clad  in  gray  homespun, 
which  gave  tliera  the  ap])earance  of  being  covered  with 
dust,  were  riding  about  in  c^aleches  and  small  one-horse 
carts  called  charettes.  The  Yankees  assumed  tliat  all 
the  riders  were  racing,  or  at  least  exhibiting  the  paces 
of  their  horses,  and  saluted  them  accordingly.  "We  saw 
but  little  of  the  village  here,  for  nobody  could  tell  us 
when  the  cars  would  start ;  that  was  kept  a  profound 
secret,  perhaps  for  political  reasons ;  and  therefore  we 
were  tied  to  our  seats.  The  inhabitants  of  St.  John's 
and  vicinity  are  described  by  an  English  traveller  as 
"  singularly  unprepossessing,"  and  before  completing  his 
period  he  adds,  "  besides,  thej'^  are  generally  very  much 
disaffected  to  the  British  crown."  I  suspect  that  that 
*'  besides  "  should  have  been  a  because. 

At  length,  about  noon,  the  cars  began  to  roll  towards 
La  Prairie.  The  whole  distance  of  fifteen  miles  was 
over  a  remarkably  level  country,  resembling  a  Western 
prairie,  with  the  mountains  about  Chambly  visible  in 
the  northeast.  This  novel,  but  monotonous  scenery,  was 
exciting.  At  La  Prairie  we  first  took  notice  of  the 
tinned  roofs,  but  above  all  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  wliicii 
looked  like  a  lake ;  m  fact  it  is  considerably  expanded 
here ;  it  was  nine  miles  across  diagonally  to  Montreal. 
INIount  Royal  in  the  rear  of  tlie  city,  and  the  island  of 
St.  Helen's  opposite  to  it,  were  now  conspicuous.  We 
could  also  see  the  Sault  St.  Louis  about  five  miles  up 
the  river,  and  the  Sault  Norman  still  farther  eastward. 
The  former  are  described  as  the  most  considerable 
rapids  in  the  St.  Lawrence ;  but  we  could  see  merely 
a  gleam  of  light  there  as  from  a  cobweb  in  the  sun. 
Soon  the  city  of  INIontreal  was  discovered  with  its  tin 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


11 


roofs  shilling  afar.  Their  rcilcctions  fell  on  the  eye  like 
a  clash  of  cymbals  on  the  ear.  Above  all  the  church  of 
iVotre  Damj  was  conspicuous,  and  anon  the  Bonseeours 
market-house,  occupying  a  commanding  position  on  the 
([uay,  in  the  rear  of  the  shipping.  This  city  makes  the 
more  favorable  impression  from  being  approached  by 
water,  and  also  being  built  of  stone,  a  gray  limestone 
found  on  tlie  island.  Here,  after  travelling  directly 
inland  the  whole  breadth  of  New  England,  we  had 
struck  upon  a  city's  harbor,  —  it  made  on  me  the 
impression  of  a  seaport,  —  to  which  ships  of  six  hundred 
tons  can  ascend,  and  where  vessels  drawing  fifteen  feet 
lie  close  to  the  wharf,  five  hundred  and  forty  miles  from 
the  Gulf;  the  St.  Lawrence  being  here  two  miles  wide. 
There  was  a  great  crowd  assembled  on  the  ferry-boat 
wharf  and  on  the  quay  to  receive  the  Yankees,  and 
fiugs  of  all  colors  were  streaming  from  the  vessels  to 
celel)i'ate  their  arri\al.  When  the  gun  was  fired,  the 
gentry  hurrahed  again  and  again,  and  then  the  Cana* 
dian  caleche-drivers,  who  were  most  interested  in  the 
matter,  and  who,  I  perceived,  were  separated  from  the 
former  by  a  fence,  hurrahed  their  welcome  ;  first  the 
broadcloth,  then  the  homespun. 

It  wiis  early  in  the  afternoon  when  we  stepped  ashore. 
With  a  single  coiu[)anion,  I  soon  found  my  way  to  the 
church  of  Notre  Dame.  I  saw  that  it  was  of  great  size 
and  signified  something.  It  is  said  to  be  the  largest 
ecde-iastical  structure  in  North  America,  and  can  seat 
ten  thousand.  It  is  two  hundred  and  fifty-live  and  a 
half  feet  long,  and  the  groined  ceiling  is  eighty  feet 
above  your  head.  The  Catholic  are  the  only  churches 
which  I  have  seen  worth  remembering,  which  are  not 
almost  wholly  profane.     I  do  not  speak  only  of  the  rich 


m 


I  'H 


III 


12 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


and  splendid  like  this,  but  of  the  humblest  of  them  as 
well.  Coming  from  the  hurnihing  mob  and  tlie  rattling 
carriages,  we  pushed  aside  the  listed  door  of  this  churcli, 
and  found  ourselves  instantly  in  an  atmosphere  whieh 
might  be  sacred  to  thou'^ait  and  religion,  if  one  had  any. 
There  sat  one  or  two  women  who  had  stolen  a  moment 
from  the  concerns  of  the  day,  as  they  were  pas.-ing ;  but, 
if  there  had  been  fifty  })eople  there,  it  would  still  have 
been  the  most  solitary  place  imaginable.  They  did  not 
look  up  at  us,  nor  did  one  regard  another.  We  walked 
softly  down  the  broad-aisle  with  our  hats  in  our  hands. 
Presently  came  in  a  troop  of  Canadians,  in  their  home- 
spun, who  had  come  to  the  city  in  the  boat  with  us,  and 
one  and  all  kneeled  down  in  the  aisle  before  the  hhjh 
altar  to  their  devotions,  somewhat  awkwardly,  as  cattle 
prepare  to  lie  down,  and  there  we  left  them.  As  if  you 
were  to  catch  some  farmer's  sons  from  Marlboro,  come 
to  cattle-show,  silently  kneeling  in  Concord  meeting- 
house some  Wednesday  !  Would  there  not  soon  be  a 
mob  peeping  in  at  the  windows  ?  It;  is  true,  these  Ro- 
man Catholics,  priests  and  all,  impress  me  as  a  people 
who  have  fallen  far  behind  the  significance  of  their 
symbols.  It  is  as  if  an  ox  had  strayed  into  a  church 
and  were  trying  to  bethink  himself.  Nevertheless,  they 
are  capable  of  reverence  ;  but  we  Yankees  are  a  people 
in  whom  this  sentiment  has  nearly  died  out,  and  in  this 
respect  we  cannot  bethink  ourselves  even  as  oxen.  I 
did  not  mind  the  pictures  nor  the  candles,  whether  tal- 
low or  tin.  Those  of  the  former  which  I  looked  at 
appeared  tawdry.  It  matters  little  to  me  whether  the 
pictures  are  by  a  neophyte  of  the  Algonquin  or  tiie 
Italian  tribe.  But  I  was  impressed  by  the  quiet  re- 
ligious atmosphere  of  the  i)lace.     It  was  a  great  eavo 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


13 


us,  and 
e  hi<rh 

cattle 
if  you 
,  come 
ietiii":- 

be  a 
e  Ro- 
)eo[)Io 

their 
Hircli 

they 
oople 

this 
I 

f  tal- 
at 

the 

the 


in  the  midst  of  a  city  ;  and  wliiit  were  the  altars  and 
the  tinsel  but  the  sparkling  stiJacties,  into  which  you 
entered  in  a  moment,  and  where  the  still  atmosphere 
and  the  sombre  light  disposed  to  serious  and  protituble 
thought  ?  Such  a  cave  at  hand,  which  you  can  enter 
any  day,  is  worth  a  thousatid  of  our  churches  whicli  are 
open  only  Sundays,  —  hardly  long  enough  for  an  airing, 
—  and  then  lilled  with  a  bustling  congregation,  —  a 
church  where  the  priest  is  the  least  part,  where  you 
do  your  own  preaching,  where  the  universe  preaches 
to  you  and  can  be  heard.  I  am  not  sure  but  this  Cath- 
olic religion  would  be  an  admirable  one  if  the  priest 
were  quite  omitted.  I  think  that  I  might  go  to  church 
myself  sometimes  some  Monday,  if  I  lived  in  a  city 
where  there  was  such  a  one  to  go  to.  In  Concord, 
to  be  sure,  we  do  not  need  such.  Our  forests  are  such 
a  church,  far  grander  and  more  sacred.  We  dare  not 
leave  our  meeting-houses  open  for  fear  they  would  bo 
profaned.  Such  a  cave,  such  a  shrine,  in  one  of  our 
groves,  for  instance,  how  long  would  it  be  respected  ? 
for  what  purposes  would  it  be  entered,  by  such  baboons 
as  we  are  ?  I  think  of  its  value  not  only  to  religion, 
but  to  philosophy  and  to  poetry  ;  besides  a  reading- 
room,  to  have  a  thinking-room  in  every  city  !  Per- 
chance the  time  will  come  when  every  house  even  wiU 
have  not  only  its  sleeping-rooms,  and  dining-room,  and 
talking-room  or  parlor,  but  its  thinking-room  also,  and 
the  architects  will  put  it  into  their  plans.  Let  it  bo 
furnished  and  ornamented  with  whatever  conduces  to 
serious  and  creative  thought.  I  should  not  object  to 
the  holy  water,  or  any  otln.'r  simple  symbol,  if  it  were 
consecrated  by  the  imagination  of  the  worshippers. 
I  heard  that  some  Yankees  bet  that  the  candles  were 


14 


A  YANKKE  IN  CANADA. 


not  wax,  but  tin.  A  European  assured  tlicm  that  they 
were  wax  ;  but,  inquiring  of  the  sexton,  lie  was  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  they  were  tin  filled  with  oil.  The 
church  was  too  poor  to  afford  wax.  As  for  the  Prot- 
estant churches,  here  or  elsewhere,  they  did  not  in- 
terest me,  for  it  is  only  as  caves  that  churches  inicrest 
me  at  all,  and  in  that  respect  they  were  inferior. 

Montreal  makes  the  impression  of  a  larger  city  than 
you  had  expected  to  find,  though  you  may  have  heard 
that  it  contains  nearly  sixty  thousand  inhabitants.  In 
the  newer  parts  it  appeared  to  be  growing  fast  like  a 
small  New  York,  and  to  be  considerably  Americanized. 
The  names  of  the  squares  reminded  you  of  Paris,  —  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  the  Place  d'Armes,  and  others,  and 
you  felt  as  if  a  French  revolution  might  break  out  any 
moment.  Glimpses  of  Mount  Koyal  rising  behind  the 
town,  and  the  names  of  some  streets  in  thiit  direction, 
make  one  think  of  Edinburgh.  That  hill  sets  off  this 
city  wonderfully.  I  inquired  at  a  principal  bookstore 
for  books  published  in  Montreal.  They  said  that  there 
were  none  but  school-books  and  the  like ;  they  got  their 
books  from  the  States.  From  time  to  time  we  met  a 
priest  in  the  streets,  for  they  are  distinguished  by  their 
dress,  like  the  civil  police.  Like  clergymen  generally, 
with  or  without  the  gown,  they  made  on  us  the  impres- 
sion of  effeminacy.  We  also  met  some  Sisters  of  Char- 
ity, dressed  in  black,  with  Shaker-shaped  black  bonnets 
and  crosses,  and  cadaverous  faces,  who  looked  as  if  they 
had  almost  cried  their  eyes  out,  their  complexions  par- 
boiled with  scalding  tears  ;  insulting  the  daylight  by 
their  presence,  having  taken  an  oath  not  to  smile.  By 
cadaverous  I  mean  that  their  faces  were  like  the  faces 
of  those  who  have  been  dead  and  buried  for  a  year,  and 


.--:* 


H 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


15 


that  they 


was  sur- 

1 

il.     Tlie 

lie  Prot- 

not  in- 

A 

inierest 

1 

ity  tlian 

e  heard 

rits.     Ill 

t  like  a 

cauizetl. 

S  —  the 

irs,  and 

:»ut  any 

ind  tlie 

rection, 

off  tJiis 

jkstore 

t  there 

t  tlieir 

met  a 

-.. 

^  their 

1 

eralJy, 

npres- 

. 

Char- 

innets 

m 

they 

m 

par- 

:   S 

it  by 

'4<^^H 

% 

l^ 

faces 

'11 

,  and 

'^B 

then  untombed,  with  the  life's  grief  upon  them,  and  yet, 
for  some  unaccountable  reason,  the  process  of  decay  ar- 
rested. 

"  Truth  never  f.iils  her  servant,  sir,  nor  leaves  him 
With  the  day's  shame  upon  him." 

They  waited  demurely  on  the  sidewalk  while  a  truck 
laden  with  raisins  was  driven  in  at  the  seminary  of  St. 
Sulpice,  never  once  lifting  their  eyes  from  the  ground. 

The  soldier  here,  as  everywhere  in  Canada,  appeared 
to  be  put  forward,  and  by  his  best  foot.  They  were  in 
the  proportion  of  the  soldiers  to  the  lal}orers  in  an  Afri- 
can ant-hill.  The  inhabitants  evidently  rely  on  them  in 
a  great  measure  for  music  and  entertainment.  You 
would  meet  with  them  pacing  back  and  forth  before 
some  guard-house  or  passage-way,  guju'ding,  regarding, 
and  disregarding  all  kinds  of  law  by  turns,  apparently 
for  the  sake  of  the  discipline  to  themselves,  and  not 
because  it  was  important  to  exclude  anybody  from 
entering  that  way.  They  reminded  me  of  the  men 
who  are  paid  for  piling  up  bricks  and  then  throwing 
them  down  again.  On  every  prominent  ledge  you 
could  see  England's  hands  holding  the  Canadas,  and  I 
judged  by  the  redness  of  her  knuckles  that  she  would 
soon  have  to  let  go.  In  the  rear  of  such  a  guard-house, 
in  a  large  gravelled  square  or  parade-ground,  called  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  we  saw  a  large  body  of  soldiers  being 
drilled,  we  being  as  yet  the  only  spectators.  But  they 
did  not  appear  to  notice  us  any  more  than  the  devotees 
in  the  church,  but  were  seemingly  as  indifferent  to  few- 
ness of  spectators  as  the  phenomena  of  nature  are,  what- 
ever they  might  have  been  thinking  under  their  helmets 
of  the  Yankees  that  were  to  come.  Each  man  wore 
white  kid  gloves.     It  was  one  of  the  most  interesting 


16 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


■i  in 
llil' 


' 


sights  wliicb  I  saw  in  Canada.  Tiie  problem  appeared 
to  be  bow  to  sinootb  down  all  individual  protuberances 
or  idiosyncrasies,  and  make  a  thousand  men  move  as 
one  man,  animated  by  one  central  will ;  and  there  was 
some  approach  to  success.  They  obeyed  the  signals  of 
a  comman'ler  who  stood  at  a  great  distance,  wand  in 
hand ;  and  the  precision,  and  promptness,  and  harmony 
of  their  movements  could  not  easily  have  been  matched. 
The  harmony  was  far  more  remarkable  than  that  of  any 
choir  or  band,  and  obtained,  no  doubt,  at  a  greater  cost. 
They  made  on  me  the  impression,  not  of  many  individ- 
uals, but  of  one  vast  centipede  of  a  man,  good  for  all 
sorts  of  pulling  down ;  and  why  not  then  for  some  kinds 
of  building  up  ?  If  men  could  combine  thus  earnestly, 
and  patiently,  and  harmoniously  to  some  really  worthy 
end,  what  might  they  not  accomplish  ?  They  now  put 
their  hands,  and  partially  perchance  their  heads,  to- 
gether, and  the  result  is  that  they  are  the  imperfect 
tools  of  an  imperfect  and  tyrannical  government.  But 
if  they  could  put  their  hands  and  heads  and  hearts  and 
all  together,  such  a  co-operation  and  harmony  would  be 
the  very  end  and  success  for  which  government  now  ex- 
ists in  vain,  —  a  government,  as  it  were,  not  only  with 
tools,  but  stock  to  trade  with. 

I  was  obliged  to  frame  some  sentences  that  sounded 
like  French  in  order  to  deal  with  the  market-women, 
who,  for  the  most  part,  cannot  speak  English.  Ac- 
cording to  the  guide-book  the  relative  population  of 
this  city  stands  nearly  thus :  two  fifths  are  French  Ca- 
nadian ;  nearly  one  fifth  British  Canadian  ;  one  and  a 
half  fifth  English,  Irish,  and  Scotch;  somewhat  less 
than  one  half  fifth  Germans,  United  States  people,  and 
others.     I  saw  nothing  like  pie  for  sale,  and  no  good 


!  i 


CONCORD  TO  MONTREAL. 


17 


ippeareJ 
be ranees 
move  as 
lere  was 
glials  of 
vand  in 
uirniony 
latched, 
t  of  any 
ter  cost, 
individ- 

for  all 
e  kinds 
rnestly, 
worthy 
low  put 
ids,  to- 
perfect 
.     But 

ts  and 
uld  be 
Dw  ex- 
Y  with 

unded 
omen, 

Ac- 
)n  of 
h  Ca- 
md  a 

less 

and 
good 


i 


cake  to  put  in  my  bundle,  such  as  you  can  easily  find  in 
our  towns,  but  plenty  of  fair-looking  apples,  for  which 
INIontreai  Island  is  celebrated,  and  also  pears,  cheaper, 
and  I  thought  better  than  ours,  and  peaohes,  which, 
though  they  were  probably  brought  from  the  South, 
were  as  cheap  as  they  commonly  are  with  us.  So  im- 
perative is  the  law  of  demaud  and  supply  that,  as  I 
have  been  told,  the  market  of  Montreal  is  sometimes 
supplied  with  green  apples  from  the  State  of  New  York 
some  weeks  even  before  they  are  ripe  in  the  latter  })lace. 
I  saw  here  the  spruce  wax  which  the  Canadians  chew, 
done  up  in  little  silvered  papers,  a  penny  a  roll ;  also  a 
small  and  shrivelled  fruit  which  they  called  cerises 
mixed  with  many  little  stems  somewhat  like  raisins, 
but  I  soon  returned  what  I  had  bought,  finding  them 
rather  insipid,  only  putting  a  sample  in  my  pocket. 
Since  my  return,  I  find  on  comparison  that  it  is  the 
fruit  of  the  sweet  viburnum  (  Viburnum  Lentago),  which 
with  us  rarely  holds  on  till  it  is  ripe. 

I  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer  John  Munn,  late 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  second  and  third  ferry-boats 
arrived  from  La  Prairie,  bringing  the  remainder  of  the 
Yankees.  I  never  saw  so  many  caleches,  cabs,  charettes, 
and  similar  vehicles  collected  before,  and  doubt  if  New 
York  could  easily  furnish  more.  The  handsome  and 
substantial  stone  quay,  which  stretches  a  mile  along  the 
river-side,  and  protects  the  street  from  the  ice,  was 
thronged  with  the  citizens  who  had  turned  out  on  foot 
and  in  carriages  to  welcome  or  to  behold  the  Yankees. 
It  was  interesting  to  see  the  caleche  drivers  dash  up 
and  down  the  slope  of  the  quay  with  their  active  little 
horses.  They  drive  much  faster  than  in  our  cities.  I 
have  been  told  that  some  of  them  come  nine  miles  into 


18 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


if: 


the  city  every  morning  and  return  every  night,  without 
changing  their  horses  during  the  day.  In  the  midst  of 
the  crowd  of  carts,  I  observed  one  deep  one  loaded  witli 
sheep  witli  their  legs  tied  together,  and  their  bodies 
piled  one  u[)on  another,  as  if  the  driver  had  forgotten 
that  they  were  sheep  and  not  yet  mutton.  A  sight,  I 
trust,  peculiar  to  Canada,  though  I  fear  that  it  is  not. 


m\ 


CHAPTER    II. 

QUEBEC     AND     MONTMOKENCI. 

About  six  o'clock  we  started  for  Quebec,  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  miles  distant  by  the  river ;  gliding  past 
Longueil  and  Boucherville  on  the  right,  and  Pointe  mix 
Trembles,  "so  called  from  having  been  originally  covered 
with  aspens,"  and  Bout  de  VIsle,  or  the  end  of  the  island, 
ou  the  left.  I  repeat  these  names  not  merely  for  want 
of  more  substantial  facts  to  record,  but  because  they 
sounded  singularly  poetic  to  my  ears.  There  certainly 
was  no  lie  in  them.  They  suggested  that  some  simple, 
and,  perchance,  heroic  human  life  might  have  transpired 
there.  There  is  all  the  poetry  in  the  world  in  a  name. 
It  is  a  poem  which  the  mass  of  men  hear  and  read. 
What  is  poetry  in  the  common  sense,  but  a  string  of 
such  jingling  names  ?  I  want  nothing  better  than  a 
good  word.  The  name  of  a  thing  may  easily  be  more 
than  the  thing  itself  to  me.  Inexpressibly  beautiful 
appears  the  recognition  by  man  of  the  least  natural  fact, 
and  the  allying  his  life  to  it.     All  the  world  reiterating 


■% 


1 

\  without 

midst  of 

Lcled  with 

ir  bodies 

forgotten              | 

L  sight,  I 

3  not. 

QUEDEC  AND  MONTMOREN'CI. 


19 


ne  hun- 
ng  past 
nte  aux 
covered 
!  island, 
3r  want 
ie  they 
Jrtainly 
simple, 
tispired 
'  name. 
1  read, 
ing  of 
than  a 
!  more 
autiful 
il  fact, 
rating 


tliis  slender  truth,  that  aspens  once  grew  there ;  and  tlie 
swiff  inference  is,  that  men  were  tlicre  to  see  them. 
And  so  it  would  be  with  the  names  ( '^  our  native  and 
neighboring  villa  _os,  if  we  had  not  profaned  them. 

The  dayli'jht  now  failed  us,  and  we  went  below  ;  but 
I  endeavored  to  console  myself  for  being  obliged  to 
make  this  voyage  by  night,  by  thinking  that  I  did  not 
lose  a  great  deal,  the  shores  being  low  and  rather  un- 
attractive, and  that  the  river  itself  was  much  the  more 
interesting  object.  I  heard  something  in  the  night 
about  the  boat  being  at  "William  Henry,  Three  Rivcr.-J, 
and  in  the  Richelieu  Rapids,  but  I  was  still  where  I 
had  been  when  I  lost  sight  of  Pointe  aiix  Trembles.  To 
hear  a  man  who  has  been  waked  up  at  midnight  in  the 
cabin  of  a  steamboat,  inquiring,  "  Waiter,  where  are  we 
now  ? "  is,  as  if  at  any  moment  of  the  earth's  revolu- 
tion round  the  sun,  or  of  the  system  round  its  centre, 
one  were  to  raise  himself  up  and  inquire  of  one  of  the 
deck  hands,  "Where  are  we  now?" 

I  went  on  deck  at  daybreak,  when  we  were  thirty  or 
forty  miles  above  Quebec.  The  banks  were  now  higher 
and  more  interesting.  There  was  an  "  uninterrupted 
succession  of  white-washed  cottages "  on  each  side  of 
the  river.  This  is  what  every  traveller  tells.  But  it  is 
not  to  be  taken  as  an  evidence  of  the  populousness  of 
the  country  in  general,  hardly  even  of  the  river  banks. 
They  have  presented  a  similar  appearance  for  a  hundred 
years.  The  vSwedish  traveller  and  naturalist,  Kalm,  who 
descended  this  river  in  17 19,  says  :  "  It  could  really  be 
called  a  village,  beginning  at  Montreal  and  ending  at 
Quebec,  which  is  a  distance  of  more  than  one  hundred 
and  eighty  miles ;  for  the  farm-houses  are  never  above 
five  arpens,  and  Sv.metimes  but  three  asunder,  a  ^q\v 


20 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


places  excepted."  Even  in  1684;  Ilontan  said  tliat  the 
houses  were  not  more  tlian  a  gunshot  apart  at  most. 
Erelong  we  passed  Cape  Kouge,  eight  miles  above  Que- 
bec, the  moiitli  of  the  Chaudicre  on  the  opposite  or 
south  side,  New  Liverpool  Cove  witli  its  lumber  rafts 
and  some  ship[)iiig  ;  then  Sillery  and  Wolfe's  Cove  and 
the  Heights  of  Abraham  on  the  north,  with  now  a  view 
of  Cape  Diamond,  and  the  citadel  in  front.  The  ap- 
proach to  Quebec  was  very  im})o.-ing.  It  was  about  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we  arrived.  There  is  but 
a  sinde  street  under  the  cliff  on  the  south  side  of  tlio 
cape,  which  was  made  by  blasting  the  rocks  and  filling 
up  the  river.  Three-story  houses  did  not  rise  more  than 
one  fifth  or  one  sixth  the  way  up  the  nearly  perpen- 
dicular rock,  whose  summit  is  three  hundred  and  forty- 
five  feet  above  the  water.  We  saw,  as  we  glided  past, 
the  sign  on  the  side  of  the  precipice,  part  way  up,  point- 
ing to  the  spot  where  Montgomery  was  killed  in  1775. 
Formerly  it  was  the  custom  for  those  who  went  to 
Quebec  for  the  first  time  to  be  ducked,  or  else  pay  a 
fine.  Not  even  the  Governor  General  escaped.  But 
we  were  too  many  to  be  ducked,  even  if  the  custom  had 
not  been  abolished.* 

Here  we  were,  in  the  harbor  of  Quebec,  still  three 
hundred  and  sixty  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  in  a  basin  two  miles  across,  where  the  great- 
est depth  is  twenty-eight  fathoms,  and  though  the  water 

*  Hicrosme  Lalcmant  says  In  1648,  in  his  relation,  he  being  Su- 
perior: "  All  those  wlio  come  to  Now  Franco  know  ■well  enough  the 
mountain  of  Notre  Danic,  because  the  pilots  and  sailors,  being  ar 
rived  at  that  part  of  the  Great  River  which  is  opposite  to  those  high 
mountains,  baptize  ordinarily  for  sport  the  new  passengers,  if  they 
do  not  turn  nsido  by  some  present  the  inuntlation  of  this  baptism 
.  ■which  oue  makes  How  plcutifully  on  theh*  heads." 


•I 


QUEBEC  AND  MONTMOREXCI. 


21 


I  that  the 
i  at  most. 
3ove  Que- 
l^posite  or 
liber  rafts 
Cove  and 
•w  a  view 
The  ap- 
about  six 
ere  is  but 
le  of  the 
id  filliiifr 
lore  than 
'  perpen- 
nd  forty- 
led  past, 
p,  point- 
in  1775. 
went  to 

0  pay  a 

1  But 
om  had 

1  three 
-lie  St. 
great- 
water 

ill,!^   Su- 

Uftli  tho 

ing  ill- 
•so  hioli 

if  tlioy 

iiptisin 


is  fresh,  the  tide  rises  seventeen  to  twenty-four  feet,  —  a 
harbor  "  lar^^^e  and  deep  enough,"  says  a  British  travel- 
ler, ''  to  hold  the  English  navy."  I  may  as  well  state 
that,  in  1814,  the  county  of  Quebec  contained  about  forty- 
live  thousand  inhabitants  (the  city  and  suburbs  having 
about  Ibrty-three  thousand)  ;  about  twenty-eight  thou- 
sand being  Canadians  of  French  origin  ;  eight  thousand 
British  ;  over  seven  thousand  natives  of  Ireland  ;  one 
thousand  five  hundred  natives  of  England;  the  rest 
Scotch  and  others.  Thirty -six  thousand  belong  to  the 
Church  of  Konie. 

Separating  ourselves  from  the  crowd,  we  walked  up 
a  narrow  street,  thence  ascended  by  some  wooden  steps, 
called  the  Break-neck  Stairs,  into  another  steep,  narrow, 
and  zigzag  street,  blasted  through  the  rock,  which  last 
led  through  a  low  massive  stone  portal,  called  Prescott 
Gate,  the  })rincl[)al  thoroughfare  into  the  Upper  Town. 
This  passage  was  defended  by  cannon,  with  a  guard- 
house over  it,  a  sentinel  at  his  post,  and  other  soldiera 
at  hand  ready  to  relieve  him.  I  rubbed  my  eyes  to  be 
sure  that  I  was  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  was  not 
entering  one  of  those  portals  which  sometimes  adorn  tho 
frontispieces  of  new  editions  of  old  black-letter  volumes. 
I  thouglit  it  would  be  a  good  place  to  read  Froissart's 
Chronicles.  It  was  such  a  reminiscence  of  the  Middle 
Ages  as  Scott's  novels.  Men  apparently  dwelt  there  for 
security.  Peace  be  unto  them !  As  if  the  iniiabitants 
of  New  York  were  to  go  over  to  Castle  William  to  live ! 
AVIiat  a  place  it  must  be  to  bring  up  children  I  Being 
sale  tlirough  the  gate  we  naturally  took  the  street  wliicli 
was  steepest,  and  after  a  few  turns  found  ourselves  on 
the  Durham  Terrace,  a  wooden  platform  on  tho  site  of 
the  old  castle  of  St.  Louis,  still  one  hundred  and  fifteen 


i 


if!|i 


II 


II 


li'i 


riir 


22 


A  YAMvEE  IN  CANADA. 


feet  below  the  summit  of  the  citadel,  overlooking  the 
Lower  Town,  the  wharf  where  we  had  landed,  the  har- 
bor, the  Isle  of  Orleans,  and  the  river  and  surrounding 
country  to  a  great  distance.  It  was  literally  a  sjAendid 
view.  "We  could  see  six  or  seven  miles  distant,  in  the 
northeast,  an  indentation  m  the  lofty  shore  of  the  north- 
ern channel,  apparently  on  one  side  of  the  harbor,  which 
marked  the  mouth  of  the  Montmorenci,  whose  celebrated 
fall  was  only  a  few  rods  in  the  rear. 

At  a  shoe-shop,  whither  we  were  directed  for  this  pur- 
pose, we  got  some  of  our  American  money  changed  into 
English.  I  found  that  American  hard  money  would 
have  answered  as  well,  excepting  cents,  which  fell  very 
fast  before  their  pennies,  it  taking  two  of  the  former  to 
make  one  of  the  latter,  and  often  the  penny,  which  had 
cost  us  two  cents,  did  us  the  service  of  one  cent  only. 
Moreover,  our  robust  cents  were  compelled  to  meet  on 
even  terms  a  crew  of  vile  half-penny  tokens,  and  bung- 
town  coppers,  which  had  more  brass  in  their  compo- 
sition, and  so  perchance  made  their  way  in  the  world. 
"Wishing  to  get  into  the  citadel,  we  were  directed  to  the 
Jesuits'  Barracks,  —  a  good  part  of  the  public  buildings 
here  are  barracks,  —  to  get  a  pass  of  the  Town  Major. 
"We  did  not  heed  the  sentries  at  the  gate,  nor  did  they 
us,  and  what  under  the  sun  they  were  placed  there  for, 
unless  to  hinder  a  free  circulation  of  the  air,  was  not 
apparent.  There  we  saw  soldiers  eating  their  breakfasts 
in  their  mess-room,  from  bare  wooden  tables  in  camp 
fashion.  "We  were  continually  meeting  with  soldiers  in 
the  streets,  carrying  funny  little  tin  pails  of  all  shapes, 
even  semicircular,  as  if  made  to  pack  conveniently.  I 
supposed  that  they  contained  their  dinners,  —  so  many 
slices  of  bread  and  butter  to  each,  perchance.     Some- 


I 


QUEBEC  AND  SIONTMORENCI. 


23 


(oking  the 
I,  the  har- 
irrounding 
a  sjjlendid 
ant,  in  the 
tlie  north- 
bor,  which 
celebrated 

I'  this  pur- 

inged  into 

^i}y  would 

I  fell  very 

former  to 

which  had 

cent  only. 

)  meet  on 

md  bung- 

ir  compo- 

he  world. 

ed  to  the 

)uilding3 

n  Major. 

did  they 

there  for, 

was  not 

reakfasts 

in  camp 

ildiers  in 

shapes, 

Dntly.     I 

so  many 

Some- 


times they  were  carrying  some  kind  of  military  chest 
on  a  sort  of  bier  or  hand-barrow,  with  a  springy,  un- 
dulating, military  step,  all  passengers  giving  way  to 
them,  even  the  charette-drivers  stopping  for  them  to 
pass,  —  as  if  the  battle  were  being  lost  from  an  inade- 
quate supply  of  powder.  There  was  a  regiment  of 
Highlanders,  and,  as  I  understood,  of  Royal  Irish,  in 
the  city ;  and  by  this  time  there  was  a  regiment  of 
Yankees  also.  I  had  already  observed,  looking  up  even 
from  tlu;  water,  the  head  and  shoulders  of  some  General 
Poniatowsky,  with  an  enormous  cocked  hat  and  gun, 
peering  over  the  roof  of  a  house,  away  up  where  the 
chimney  caps  commonly  are  with  us,  as  it  were  a  cari- 
cature of  war  and  military  awfulness  ;  but  I  had  not 
gone  far  up  St.  Louis  Street  before  my  riddle  was 
solved,  by  the  apparition  of  a  real  live  Highlander 
under  a  cocked  hat,  and  with  his  knees  out,  standing 
and  marching  sentinel  on  the  ramparts,  between  St. 
Louis  and  St.  John's  Gate.  (It  must  be  a  holy  war 
that  is  waged  there.)  We  stood  close  by  without  fear 
and  looked  at  him.  His  legs  were  somewhat  tanned, 
and  the  hair  had  begun  to  grow  on  them,  as  some  of  our 
wise  men  predict  that  it  will  in  such  cases,  but  I  did  not 
think  they  were  remarkable  in  any  respect.  Notwith- 
standing all  his  warlike  gear,  when  I  inquired  of  him 
the  way  to  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  he  could  not  answer 
me  without  betraying  some  bashfulness  through  his 
])road  Scotch.  Soon  after,  wo  passed  another  of  these 
creatures  standing  sentry  at  the  St.  Louis  Gate,  who  let 
us  go  by  without  shooting  us,  or  even  demanding  the 
countersign.  We  then  began  to  go  through  the  gate, 
which  was  so  thick  and  tunnel-like,  as  to  remind  me  of 
those  lines  in  Claudian's  Old  Man  of  Verona,  about  the 


I. 

Ill 


i>! 


iilji 


.  1 


.llilil,    : 


llllil 


liiii 


24 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


getting  out  of  the  gate  being  the  greater  part  of  a  jour- 
iiey  ;  —  as  you  might  imagine  yourself  crawling  through 
an  architectural  vignette  at  the  end  of  a  black-letter 
volume.  We  were  then  reminded  that  we  had  been  in 
a  fortress,  from  which  we  emerged  by  numerous  zig- 
zags in  a  ditch-like  road,  going  a  considerable  distance 
to  advance  a  few  rods,  where  they  could  have  shot  us 
two  or  three  times  over,  if  their  minds  had  been  dis- 
posed as  their  guns  were.  The  greatest,  or  rather  the 
most  prominent,  part  of  this  city  was  constructed  with 
the  design  to  offer  the  deadest  resistance  to  leaden  and 
iron  missiles  that  might  be  cast  against  it.  But  it  is  a 
remarkable  meteorological  and  psychological  fact,  that 
it  is  rarely  known  to  rain  lead  with  much  violence,  ex- 
cept on  places  so  constructed.  Keeping  on  about  a  mile 
we  came  to  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  —  for  having  got 
through  with  the  Saints,  we  come  next  to  the  Patriarchs. 
Here  the  Highland  regiment  was  being  reviewed,  while 
the  band  stood  on  one  side  and  played,  —  methinks  it 
was  La  Claire  Fontaine,  the  national  air  of  the  Cana- 
dian French.  This  is  the  site  where  a  real  battle  once 
took  place,  to  commemorate  which  they  have  had  a  sham 
fight  here  almost  every  day  since.  The  Highlanders 
manoeuvred  very  well,  and  if  the  precision  of  tlKiir 
movements  was  less  remarkable,  they  did  not  appear 
80  stiflly  erect  as  the  English  or  Royal  Irish,  but  had  a 
more  elastic  and  graceful  gait,  like  a  herd  of  their  own 
red  deer,  or  as  if  accustomed  to  stepping  down  the  sides 
of  mountains.  But  they  made  a  sad  impression  on  the 
whole,  for  it  was  obvious  that  all  true  manhood  was  in 
the  process  of  being  drilled  out  of  them.  1  have  no 
doubt  that  soldiers  well  drilled  are,  as  a  class,  peculiarly 
destitute  of  originality  and  independence.     The  ofUcers 


ap 

iiii 

nui 

me 

wl 

but 

tlie 

be 

dril 

ami 


QUEBEC  AND  MONTMORENCI. 


25 


of  a  jour- 
12  through 
ilack-letter 
id  been  in 
erous  zig- 
e  distance 
ve  shot  us 
been  dis- 
rather  the 
ucted  with 
leaden  and 
But  it  is  a 
I  fact,  that 
olence,  ex- 
)out  a  mile 
having  got 
Patriarchs, 
wed,  while 
lethinks  it 
the  Cana- 
)attle  once 
lad  a  sham 
ijjhlanders 
of  tlieir 
ot  appear 
but  had  a 
their  own 
1  the  sides 
on  on  the 
od  was  in 
have  no 
Ipecuharly 
he  otlicers 


appeared  like  men  dressed  above  their  condition.  It  is 
impossible  to  give  the  soldier  a  good  education,  without 
making  lilm  a  deserter.  His  natural  foe  is  the  govern- 
ment that  drills  him.     What  would  any  philanthropist, 

-  who  felt  an  interest  in  the.se  men's  welfare,  naturally  do, 
but  first  of  all  teach  them  so  to  respect  themselves,  that 
tliey  could  not  be  hired  for  this  work,  whatever  might 
be  the  consequences  to  this  government  or  that;  —  not 
drill  a  few,  but  educate  all.  I  ob.-^erved  one  older  man 
among  them,  gray  as  a  wharf-rat,  and  supple  as  the 
Devil,  marching  lock-step  with  the  rest  who  would  have 
to  pay  for  that  elastic  gait. 

We  returned  to  the  citadel  along  the  heights,  pluck- 
ing such  flowers  as  grew  there.  There  was  an  abun- 
dance of  succory  still  in  blossom,  broad-leaved  golden- 
rotl,  buttercu[)S,  thorn-bushes,  Canada  thistles,  and  ivy, 
ou  the  very  summit  of  Cape  Diamond.  I  also  found 
the  bladder-cumpion  in  the  neighborhood.  We  there 
enjoyed  an  extensive  view,  Avhich  I  will  describe  in 
another  place.  Our  pa?s,  which  stated  that  all  the  rules 
were  "  to  be  strictly  enforced,"  as  if  they  were  deter- 
mined to  keep  up  the  semblance  of  reality  to  the  last 
gasp,  opened  to  us  the  Dalhousie  Gate,  and  we  were 
conducted  over  the  citadel  by  a  bare-legged  Highlander 

«  in  cocked  hat  and  full  regimentals.  He  told  us  that  he 
had  been  here  about  three  years,  and  had  formerly  been 
stationed  at  Gibraltar.  As  if  his  regiment,  having  per- 
chance been  nestled  amid  the  rocks  of  Edinburgh  Cas- 
tle, must  flit  from  rocdc  to  rock  thenceforth  over  the 
iL'arth's  surface,  like  a  bald  eagle,  or  other  bird  of  prey, 
iVom  eyrie  to  eyrie.  As  we  were  going  out,  we  met  the 
Tankees  coming  in,  in  a  body,  headed  by  a  red-coated 
^pllicer  called  the  commandant,  and  escorted  by  many 


I'  ' 


26 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


citizens,  both  Endish  and  French  Canadian.  I  there- 
fore  immediately  fell  into  the  procession,  and  went  round 
the  citadel  again  with  more  intelligent  guides,  carrying, 
as  before,  all  my  eifects  with  me.  Seeing  that  nobody 
walked  with  the  red-coated  commandant,  I  attached  my- 
self to  him,  and  though  I  was  not  what  is  called  well- 
dressed,  he  did  not  know  whether  to  repel  me  or  not, 
for  I  talked  like  one  who  was  not  aware  of  any  de- 
ficiency in  that  respect.  Probably  there  was  not  one 
among  all  the  Yankees  who  went  to  Canada  this  time, 
who  was  not  more  splendidly  dressed  than  I  was.  It 
would  have  been  a  poor  story  if  I  had  not  enjoyed  some 
distinction.  I  had  on  my  "  bad-weather  clothes,"  like 
Olaf  Trygesson  the  Northman,  when  he  went  to  the 
Thing  in  England,  where,  by  the  way,  he  won  his  bride. 
As  we  stood  by  the  thirty-two-pounder  on  the  summit 
of  Cape  Diamond,  which  is  fired  three  times  a  day,  the 
commandant  told  me  that  it  would  carry  to  the  Isle  of 
Orleans,  four  milts  distant,  and  that  no  hostile  vessel 
could  come  round  the  island.  I  now  saw  the  subter- 
ranean or,  rather,  "  cascmated  barracks  "  of  the  soldiers, 
which  I  had  not  noticed  before,  though  I  might  have 
walked  over  them.  They  had  very  narrow  windows, 
serving  as  loop-holes  for  musketry,  and  small  iron  chim- 
neys rising  above  the  ground.  There  we  saw  the  soldiers 
at  home  and  in  an  undress,  splitting  wood, —  I  looked  to 
see  whether  with  swords  or  axes,  —  and  in  various  ways 
endeavoring  to  realize  that  their  nation  was  now  at  peace 
with  this  part  of  the  world.  A  part  of  each  regiment, 
chiefly  officers,  are  allowed  to  marry.  A  grandfatherly, 
would-be  witty  Englishman  could  give  a  Yankee  whom 
he  was  patronizing  no  ren'  i"  for  the  bare  knees  of  the 
Highlanders,  other  uiaa  oddity.     The  rock  within  tho 


QUEBEC  AND  MONTMORENCI. 


27 


I  there- 
rent  round 
,  carrying, 
at  nobody 
iched  my- 
alled  well- 
ne  or  not, 
)f  any  de- 
ls not  one 
this  time, 
I  was.     It 
joyed  some 
>thes,"  like 
cut  to  the 
1  his  bride, 
he  summit 
a  day,  the 
the  Isle  of 
tile  vessel 
he  subter- 
le  soldiers, 
lo-ht  have 
windows, 
iron  chiin- 
he  soldier.s 
looked  to 
[nous  ways 
,v  at  peace 
regiment, 
idialhei'ly, 
kee  whom 
ees  of  the 
,vithin  tho 


11 


citadel  is  a  little  convex,  so  that  shells  falling  on  it  w^ould 
roll  toward  the  cir  'umference,  where  the  barracks  of  the 
soldiers  and  offic  rs  are ;  it  has  been  proposed,  therefore, 
to  make  it  slig'  tly  concave,  so  that  they  may  roll  into 
tiie  centre,  wlv  tliey  would  be  comparatively  harm- 
less ;  and  i.  .  ^  estimated  that  to  do  this  would  cost 
twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling.  It  may  be  well  to 
remember  this  when  I  build  my  next  house,  and  have 
the  roof  "  all  correct  "  for  bombshells. 

At  mid-aftornoon  we  made  haste  down  Sault-au-Mate- 
lot  street,  towards  the  Falls  of  jMontmorenci,  about  eight 
miles  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  on  the  north  side,  leaving 
the  fiuthcr  examination  of  Quebec  till  our  return.  On 
our  way,  we  saw  men  in  the  streets  sawing  logs  i)it- 
fashion,  and  afterward,  with  a  common  wood-saw  and 
horse,  cutting  the  planks  into  S(|uares  for  paving  tho 
streets.  This  looked  very  sliiftless,  especially  in  a  coun- 
try abounding  in  water-power,  and  reminded  me  that  I 
was  no  longer  in  Yankee  land.  I  found,  on  inquiry, 
that  the  excuse  for  this  was,  that  la1)or  was  so  cheap  ; 
and  I  thought,  with  some  i)ain,  how  cheap  men  are 
here  !  I  have  since  learned  that  the  English  traveller, 
Warburton,  remarked,  soon  after  landing  at  Quebec, 
that  everything  was  cheap  there  but  men.  That  must 
be  the  difference  between  going  thither  from  New  and 
from  Old  Eng.ind.  I  had  already  observed  the  dogs 
harnessed  to  their  little  milk-carts,  which  contain  a  sin- 
gle large  can,  lying  asleep  in  the  gutters  regardless  of 
thj  horses,  while  they  rested  from  tlieir  labors,  at  dif- 
ferent stages  of  the  ascent  in  the  Upper  Town.  I  was 
surprised  at  the  regular  and  extensive  use  made  of  these 
animals  for  drawing,  not  only  milk,  but  groceries,  wood, 
&c.     It  reminded  me  that  the  dog  commonly  is  not  put 


'i'lii^ 


■Miiiir 


iii 


i 

•I 


28 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


to  any  use.  Cats  catch  mice  ;  but  dogs  only  worry  the 
cats.  Kalm,  a  hundred  years  ago,  saw  sledges  here  for 
ladies  to  ride  in,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  dogs.  He  says, 
"A  middle-sized  dog  is  sufficient  to  draw  a  single  per- 
son, when  the  roads  arc  good  " ;  and  he  was  told  by  old 
people,  that  horses  were  very  scarce  in  their  youth,  and 
almost  all  the  land-carriage  was  then  effected  by  dogs. 
They  made  mc  think  of  the  Esquimaux,  who,  in  fact, 
are  the  next  people  on  the  north.  Charlevoix  says,  that 
the  first  horses  were  introduced  in  1G65. 

We  crossed  Dorchester  Bridge,  over  the  St.  Charles, 
the  little  river  in  which  Cartier,  the  discoverer  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  put  his  ships,  and  spent  the  winter  of 
1535,  and  found  ourselves  on  an  excellent  macadamized 
road,  called  Le  Chemin  de  Beauport.  We  had  left  Con- 
cord Wednesday  morning,  and  we  endeavored  to  realize 
that  now,  P^-iday  morning,  we  were  taking  a  walk  in 
Canada,  in  the  Seigniory  of  Beauport,  a  foreign  country, 
which  a  few  days  before  had  seemed  almost  as  far  off  as 
England  and  France.  Instead  of  rambling  to  Flint's 
Pond  or  the  Sudbury  Meadows,  we  found  ourselves,  after 
being  a  little  detained  in  cars  and  steamboats,  —  after 
spending  half  a  night  at  Burlington,  and  half  a  daj/'  at 
INIontreal,  —  taking  a  walk  down  the  bank  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  the  Falls  of  Montmorenci  and  elsewhere. 
Well,  I  thought  to  myself,  here  I  am  in  a  foreign  coun- 
try ;  let  me  have  my  eyes  about  me,  and  take  it  all  in. 
It  already  looked  and  felt  a  good  deal  colder  than  it  had 
in  New  England,  as  we  might  have  expected  it  would. 
I  realized  fully  that  I  was  four  degrees  nearer  the  polo, 
and  shuddered  at  the  thought ;  and  I  wondered  if  it 
■were  possible  that  the  peaches  might  not  be  all  gone 
when  I  returned.     It  was  an  atmosphere  that  made  me 


f 


A' 


QUEBEC  AND  MONTMORENCI. 


29 


ly  worry  the 
Iges  here  for 
3.  He  says, 
a  single  per- 
s  told  by  old 
ir  youth,  and 
!ted  by  dogs, 
nho,  in  fact, 
tix  says,  that 

St.  Charles, 
verer  of  the 
e  winter  of 
aacadamized 
lad  left  Con- 
ed to  realize 
5  a  walk  in 
ign  country, 
as  far  off  as 
to  Flint's 
selves,  after 
ats,  —  after 
ilf  a  dajr  at 
of  the  St. 
elsewhere, 
reign  coun- 
ce  it  all  in. 
than  it  had 
1  it  would, 
r  the  pole, 
dered  if  it 
)e  all  gone 
,t  made  me 


think  of  the  fur-trade,  which  is  so  interesting  a  depart- 
ment in  Canada,  for  I  had  for  all  head-covering  a  thin 
palm-leaf  hat  without  lining,  that  c  *-  twenty-five  cents, 
and  over  my  coat  one  of  those  unspeakably  cheap,  as 
well  as  thin,  brown  linen  sacks  of  the  Oak  Hall  pattern, 
which  every  summer  appear  all  over  New  England,  thick 
as  the  leaves  upon  the  tree.s.  It  was  a  thoroughly  Yan- 
kee costume,  which  some  of  my  fellow-travellers  wore 
in  the  cars  to  save  their  coats  a  dusting.  I  wore  mine, 
at  first,  because  it  looked  better  than  the  coat  it  covered, 
and  last,  because  two  coats  were  warmer  than  one, 
though  one  was  thin  and  dirty.  I  never  wear  my  best 
coat  on  a  journey,  though  perchance  I  could  show  a 
certificate  to  prove  that  I  have  a  more  costly  one,  at 
least,  at  home,  if  that  were  all  that  a  gentleman  re- 
quired. It  is  not  wise  for  a  traveller  to  go  dressed.  I 
should  no  more  think  of  it  than  of  putting  on  a  clean 
dicky  and  blacking  my  shoes  to  go  a-fishnig ;  as  if  you 
were  going  out  to  dine,  when,  in  fact,  the  genuine  travel- 
ler is  going  out  to  work  hard,  and  fare  harder,  —  to  eat 
a  crust  by  the  wayside  whenever  he  can  get  it.  Honest 
travelling  is  about  as  dirty  work  as  you  can  do,  and  a 
man  needs  a  pair  of  overalls  for  it.  As  for  blacking  my 
shoes  in  such  a  case,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  blacking 
my  face.  I  carry  a  piece  of  tallow  to  preserve  the 
leather,  and  keep  out  the  water ;  that 's  all ;  and  many 
an  oilicious  shoe-black,  who  carried  off  my  shoes  when 
I  was  slumbering,  mistaking  me  for  a  gentleman,  has 
had  occasion  to  repent  it  before  he  produced  a  gloss  on 
thera. 

INIy  pack,  in  fact,  was  soon  made,  for  I  keep  a  short 
list  of  those  articles  which,  from  frequent  experience,  I 
have  found  indispensable  to  the  foot-traveller;  and,  when 


30 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


I  am  about  to  start,  I  liavo  only  to  consult  that,  to  bo 
sure  that  nothing  is  omitted,  and,  what  is  more  impor- 
tant, nothing  superfluous  inserted.  IMost  of  my  fellow- 
travellers  carried  carpet-bags,  or  valises.  Sometimes 
one  had  two  or  three  ponderous  yellow  valises  in  his 
clutch,  at  each  hitch  of  the  cars,  as  if  we  were  going  to 
have  another  rush  for  seats ;  and  when  there  was  a  rush 
in  earnest,  and  there  were  not  a  few,  I  would  see  my 
man  in  the  crowd,  with  two  or  three  affectionate  lusty 
fellows  along  each  side  of  his  arm,  between  his  shoulder 
and  his  valises,  which  last  held  them  tight  to  his  back, 
like  the  nut  on  the  end  of  a  screw.  I  could  not  help 
asking  in  my  mind.  What  so  great  cause  for  showing 
Canada  to  those  valises,  when  perhaps  your  very  nieces 
had  to  stay  at  home  for  want  of  an  escort?  I  should 
have  liked  to  be  present  w)ien  the  custom-house  oificer 
came  aboard  of  him,  and  asked  him  to  declare  upon  his 
honor  if  he  had  anything  but  wearing  apparel  in  them. 
Even  the  elephant  carries  but  a  small  trunk  on  his  jour- 
neys. The  perfection  of  travelling  is  to  travel  without 
baggage.  Aftc*  considerable  reflection  and  experience, 
I  have  concluded  tnat  the  best  bag  for  the  foot-traveller 
is  made  with  a  handkerchief,  or,  if  he  study  appearances, 
a  piece  of  stiff  brown  paper,  well  tied  up,  with  a  fresh 
piece  within  to  put  outside  when  the  first  is  torn.  That 
is  good  for  both  town  and  country,  and  none  will  know 
but  you  are  carrying  home  the  silk  for  a  new  -gown  for 
your  wife,  when  it  may  be  a  dirty  shirt.  A  bundle  which 
you  can  carry  literally  under  your  arm,  and  which  will 
shrink  and  swell  with  its  contents.  I  never  found  the 
carpet-bag  of  equal  capacity,  which  was  not  a  bundle  of 
itself.  We  styled  ourselves  the  Knights  of  the  Umbrella 
and  the  Bundle ;  for  wdierever  we  went,  whether  to  Notre 


li 


QUEBEC  AND  M0>;    MOF  ENCr 


81 


hat,  to  bo 

)re  impor- 

ny  tellow- 

■Jometimes 

ses  in  his 

e  going  to 

vas  a  rush 

Id  see  my 

nate  lusty 

s  shoulder 

)  his  back, 

i  not  help 

r  showing 

ery  nieces 

I  should 

use  olficer 

3  upon  his 

1  in  them. 

1  his  jour- 

3I  without 

"tperience, 

-traveller 

^earances, 

1  a  fresh 

n.     That 

ivill  know 

gown  for 

lie  which 

hich  will 

bund  the 

>undle  of 

Jmbrella 

to  Notre 


]>ime  or  IMount  Royal,  or  the  l.arap-d-  Mars,  >  Ihe 
Town  Major's  or  tlie  Dishop's  Palace,  to  the  (  .^1, 
with  a  bani-lefrijed  Hirrhlander  for  our  e.^cort,  or  »  the 
Plains  of  Abraham,  to  dinner  or  to  bed,  the  umi^rella 
and  the  bundle  went  with  us  ;  for  we  wished  to  be  ready 
to  digress  at  any  moment.  We  made  it  our  home  no- 
where in  particular,  but  everywhere  where  our  umbrella 
and  bundle  were.  It  would  have  been  an  amusing  cir- 
cumstance, if  the  Miyor  of  one  of  those  cities  had  po- 
litely asked  us  where  we  were  staying.  We  could  only 
have  answered,  that  we  were  staying  with  his  Honor  for 
the  time  being.  I  was  amused  when,  after  our  return, 
some  green  ones  inquired  if  we  found  it  easy  to  get  ac- 
commodated ;  as  if  we  went  abroad  to  get  accommo- 
dated, when  we  can  get  that  at  home. 

We  met  with  many  charettes,  bringing  wood  and  stone 
to  the  city.  The  most  ordinary  looking  li^rses  travelled 
faster  than  ours,  or,  perhaps  they  were  ordinary  looking, 
because,  as  I  am  told,  the  Canadians  do  not  use  the 
curry-comb.  IMoreover,  it  is  said,  that  on  the  approach 
of  winter  their  horses  acquire  an  increased  quantity  of 
hair,  to  protect  them  from  the  cold.  If  this  be  true, 
some  of  our  horses  would  make  you  think  winter  were 
approaching,  even  in  midsummer.  AYe  soon  began  to 
see  women  and  girls  at  work  in  the  fields,  digging  pota- 
toes alone,  or  bundling  up  the  grain  which  the  men  cut. 
They  appeared  in  rude  health,  with  a  great  deal  of  color 
in  their  cheeks,  and,  if  their  occupation  had  made  them 
coarse,  it  impressed  me  as  better  in  its  effects  than  mak- 
ing shirts  at  fc)ur[)ence  apiece,  or  doing  nothing  at  all; 
unless  it  bo  chewing  slate  pencils,  with  still  smaller  re- 
sults. They  were  much  more  agreeable  objects,  with 
their  great  broad-brimmed   hats  and   flowing  dresses, 


<  ft      ( 

I* 

I 


■I 


32 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


than  the  men  and  boys.  We  afterwards  paw  them  doing 
various  otlier  kinds  of  work  ;  indeed,  I  thouglit  that  we 
saw  more  women  at  work  out  of  doors  than  men.  On 
our  return,  we  observed  in  this  town  a  girl  with  Indian 
boots,  nearly  two  feet  high,  taking  the  harness  off  a  dog. 
The  purity  and  transparency  of  the  atmo?pliere  were 
wonderful.  AVhen  we  had  been  walking  an  hour,  wo 
were  surprised,  on  turning  round,  to  see  how  near  the 
city,  with  its  glittering  tin  roofs,  still  looked.  A  village 
ten  miles  off  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  three  or 
four.  I  was  convinced  tb  »t  you  could  see  objects  dis- 
tinctly there  much  farther  than  here.  It  is  true  the 
villages  are  of  a  dazzling  white,  but  the  dazzle  is  to  be 
referred,  perhaps,  to  the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere 
as  much  as  to  the  whitewasli. 

We  were  now  fairly  in  the  village  of  Beauport,  though 
there  was  still  but  one  road.  The  houses  stood  close  upon 
this,  without  any  front-yards,  and  at  any  angle  with  it, 
as  if  they  had  dropped  down,  being  set  with  more  refer- 
ence to  the  road  which  the  sun  travels.  It  being  about 
sundown,  and  the  Falls  not  far  off,  we  began  to  look 
round  for  a  lodging,  for  we  preferred  to  put  up  at  a  pri- 
vate house,  that  we  might  see  more  of  the  inhabitants. 
We  inquired  first  at  the  most  promising  looking  houses, 
if,  indeed,  any  were  promising.  When  we  knocked,  they 
shouted  some  French  word  for  come  in,  perhaps  entrez, 
and  we  asked  for  a  lodging  in  English ;  but  we  found, 
unexpectedly,  that  they  spoke  French  only.  Then  we 
went  along  and  tried  another  house,  being  generally 
saluted  by  a  rush  of  two  or  three  little  curs,  which 
readily  distinguished  a  foreigner,  and  which  we  w^erc 
prepared  now  to  hear  bark  in  French.  Our  first  question 
would  be,  Parlez-vous  Anglaisl  but  the  invariable  an- 


1 


QUEBEC  AND  MONTMOIIEXCI. 


33 


licm  doing 
it  that  we 
men.  On 
itli  Indian 
off  a  dog. 
iiere  Avere 

hour,  wo 

near  the 
A  village 

three  or 
3Jects  dis- 

true  the 
le  is  to  be 
;raosphere 

rt,  though 

;Iose  upou 

e  with  it, 

ore  refer- 

iug  jibout 

to  look 

at  a  pri- 

labitants. 

g  houses, 

ed,  they 

)S  entrez, 

e  found. 

Then  we 

generally 

which 

ve  were 

question 

ible  an- 


swer wa-5,  Non,  monsieur  ;  and  we  soon  found  that  the 
itdiabitants  were  exclusively  French  Canadians,  and  no- 
body spoke  English  at  all,  any  more  than  in  France  ; 
that,  in  fact,  wc  were  in  a  foreign  country,  where  the 
inhabitants  uttered  not  one  familiar  sound  to  us.  Then 
we  tried  by  turns  to  talk  French  with  them,  in  which  we 
succeeded  somi.'times  pretty  well,  but  for  the  most  part, 
pretty  ill.  Pouvez-vous  nous  donner  tin  lit  cette  iiuit  ? 
we  would  ask,  and  then  they  would  answer  with  French 
volubility,  so  that  we  could  catch  only  a  word  here  and 
there.  We  could  understand  the  women  and  children 
generally  better  than  the  men,  and  they  us  ;  and  thus, 
after  a  while,  we  would  learn  that  they  had  no  more 
beds  than  they  used. 

So  we  were  compelled  to  inquire :  Ya-t-il  une  maison 
pHhli(pie  ici  1  (tmherge  we  should  have  said,  perhaps,  for 
they  seemed  never  to  have  heard  of  the  other),  and  they 
answered  at  length  that  there  was  no  tavern,  unless  we 
could  get  lodgings  at  the  mill,  Ic  monlin,  which  we  had 
passed  ;  or  they  would  direct  us  to  a  grocery,  ..nd  almost 
every  house  had  a  small  grocery  at  one  end  of  it.  Wc 
called  on  the  public  notary  or  village  lawyer,  but  he  had 
no  more  beds  nor  English  than  the  rest.  At  one  house 
there  was  so  good  a  misunderstanding  at  once  established 
through  the  politeness  of  all  parties,  that  we  were  en- 
couraged to  walk  in  and  sit  down,  and  ask  for  a  glass  of 
water ;  and  having  drank  their  water,  we  thought  it  was 
as  good  as  to  have  tasted  their  salt.  When  our  host  and 
his  wife  spoke  of  their  })Oor  accommodations,  meaning 
for  themselves,  we  assured  them  that  they  were  good 
enough,  for  we  thought  that  they  were  only  apologizing 
for  the  poorness  of  the  accommodations  they  were  about 
to  offer  II  >,  and  we  did  not  discover  our  mistake  till  they 

0 


•■>* 


34 


A   YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


f         M 


took  us  up  a  ladder  into  a  loft,  and  showed  to  our  eyes 
wliat  they  had  been  laboring  in  vain  to  communicate  to  our 
brains  through  our  ears,  that  they  had  but  tliat  one  apart- 
ment with  its  few  beds  for  the  whole  family.  We  made 
our  a-dieus  forthwith,  and  witli  gravity,  perceiving  the 
literal  signification  of  that  word.  We  were  finally  taken 
in  at  a  sort  of  public-iiouse,  whose  master  worked  for 
Patterson,  the  proprietor  of  the  extensive  saw-mills 
driven  by  a  portion  of  the  Montmorenci  stolen  from  the 
fall,  whose  roar  we  now  heard.  We  here  talked,  or  mur- 
dered French  all  the  evening,  \\\[\\  the  master  of  the 
house  and  his  family,  and  probably  had  a  more  amusing 
time  than  if  we  had  completely  understood  one  another. 
At  length  they  showed  us  to  a  bed  in  their  best  cham- 
ber, very  high  to  get  into,  with  a  low  wooden  rail  to  it. 
It  had  no  cotton  sheets,  but  coarse,  home-made,  dark 
colored,  linen  one?.  Afterward,  we  had  to  do  with  sheets 
still  coarser  than  these,  and  nearly  the  color  of  our  blan- 
kets. There  was  a  large  open  bulTet  loaded  with  crock- 
ery, in  one  corner  of  the  room,  as  if  to  display  their 
wealth  to  travellers,  and  pictures  of  Scripture  scenes, 
French,  Italian,  and  Spanish,  hung  around.  Our  hostess 
came  back  directly  to  inquire  if  we  would  have  brandy 
for  breakfast.  The  next  morning,  when  I  asked  their 
names,  she  took  down  the  temperancie  pledges  of  herself 
and  husband,  and  children,  which  were  hanging  against 
the  wall.  They  were  Jean  Baptiste  Binet,  and  his  wife, 
(jrcncvieve  Binet.  Jean  Baptiste  is  the  sobriquet  of 
the  French  Canadians. 

After  breakfast  we  proceeded  to  the  fall,  which  was 
within  half  a  mile,  and  at  this  distance  its  rustling  sound, 
like  the  wind  among  the  Knaves,  lill«;d  all  the  air.  AVe 
were  disapi>ointed  to  lind  that  we  were  in  soiie  nuasuru 


'I 


! 


If 


1 


QUEBEC   AND   MONTMORENCI. 


35 


i^liut  out  from  the  west  side  of  the  fall  by  the  private 
grounds  and  fences  of  Patterson,  who  appropriates  not 
only  a  part  of  the  water  for  his  mill,  but  a  still  larger 
))art  of  the  prosi)ect,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  trespass. 
This  ixentlenuin's  mansion-house  and  grounds  were  for- 
mcrly  occuj)ied  by  the  Uuke  of  Kent,  father  to  Queen 
Victoria.  It  a})pcared  to  me  in  bad  taste  for  an  indi- 
vidual, though  he  were  the  father  of  C^ueen  Victoria,  to 
obtrude  himself  with  his  land  titles,  or  at  least  his  fences, 
on  so  remarkable  a  natural  phenomenon,  which  should, 
in  every  sense,  belong  to  mankind.  Some  falls  should 
even  be  kei)t  sacred  fi-om  the  intrusion  of  mills  and 
factories,  as  water  privileg(!s  in  another  than  the  mill- 
wright's sense.  This  small  river  falls  perpendicularly 
nearly  two  hundred  and  lil'ty  feet  at  one  [)itch.  The  8t. 
Lawrence  falls  only  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  at 
Niagara.  It  is  a  very  simple  and  nuble  fall,  and  leaves 
nothing  to  be  desired ;  but  the  most  that  I  could  say  of 
it  would  only  have  the  force  of  one  other  testimony  to 
assure  the  reader  that  it  is  there.  We  looked  directly 
down  on  it  from  the  point  of  a  projc.'cting  rock,  .and  saw 
far  below  us,  on  Ji  low  promontory,  the  grass  kept  I'resh 
and  green  by  the  perpetual  driz/le,  looking  like  moss. 
The  rock  is  a  kind  of  slate,  in  the  crevices  of  which 
grew  ferns  and  golden-rods.  TIk;  prevailing  trees  un 
the  shores  were  spruce  and  arbor-vitie,  —  the  latter  very 
large  and  now  full  of  fruit,  —  also  aspens,  alders,  and  the 
mountain-ash  with  its  berries.  Every  emigrant  who  ar- 
rives in  this  country  by  way  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  as  ho 
opens  a  point  of  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  sees  the  IMontmo- 
renci  tunddiiig  into  the  Great  Uiver  thus  magnificenlly 
in  avast  white  sheet,  making  its  conlribulion  with  em- 
phasis.     Ivoberval's  pilot,  Jean  Alphonse,  saw  this  lall 


mi   'I   I 


36 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


thus,  and  described  it,  in  1542.  It  is  a  splendid  intro- 
duction to  the  scenery  of  Quebec.  Instead  of  an  arti- 
ficial fountain  in  its  square,  Quebec  has  this  magnificent 
natural  waterfall  to  adorn  one  side  of  its  harbor.  "Within 
the  mouth  of  the  chasm  below,  which  can  be  entered 
only  at  ebb  tide,  we  had  a  grand  view  at  once  of  Que- 
bec and  of  the  fall.  Kalm  says  that  the  noise  of  the 
fall  is  sometimes  heard  at  Quebec,  about  eight  miles 
distant,  and  is  a  sign  of  a  northeast  wind.  The  side  of 
this  chasm,  of  soft  and  crumbling  slate  too  steep  to  climb, 
was  among  the  memorable  features  of  the  scene.  In  the 
winter  of  1829  the  frozen  spray  of  the  fall,  descending 
en  the  ice  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  made  a  hill  one  hundred* 
and  twenty-six  feo.t  high.  It  is  an  annual  phenomenon 
which  some  think  may  help  explain  the  formation  of 
glaciers. 

In  the  vicinity  of  the  fall  we  began  to  notice  what 
looked  like  our  red-fruited  thorn  bushes,  grown  to  the 
size  of  ordinary  apple-trees,  very  common,  and  full  of 
largo  red  or  yellow  fruit,  which  the  inhabitants  called 
pommettes,  but  I  did  not  learn  that  they  were  put  to  any 
use. 


,it0* 


ST.  ANNE. 


37 


(1  intro- 
an  arti- 
^nificent 

Within 
entered 
Df  Que- 
s  of  the 
it  miles 
side  of 
0  climb, 

In  the 
cending 
lundred* 
omenon 
tion  of 

3e  what 

to  the 

full  of 

called 

to  any 


CHAPTER    III 


ST.    ANNE. 


By  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  though  it  was  a  rainy 
day,  we  were  once  more  on  our  way  down  the  north 
bank  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  a  northeasterly  direction, 
toward  the  Falls  of  St.  Anne,  which  are  about  thirty 
miles  from  Quebec.  The  settled,  more  level,  and  fertile 
portion  of  Canada  East  may  be  described  rudely  as  a 
triangle,  with  its  apex  slanting  toward  the  northeast, 
about  one  hundred  miles  wide  at  its  base,  and  from  two 
to  three,  or  even  four  iiundred  miles  long,  if  you  reckon 
its  narrow  northeastern  extremity  ;  it  being  the  imme- 
diate valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  its  tributaries, 
rising  by  a  single  or  by  successive  terraces  toward  the 
mountains  on  either  hand.  Thou'jjh  the  words  Canada 
East  on  the  map  stretch  over  many  rivers  and  lak(*s 
and  unexplored  wildernesses,  the  actual  Canada,  which 
might  be  the  colored  portion  of  the  map,  is  but  a  little 
clearing  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  which  one  of  those 
syllables  would  more  than  cover.  The  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  are  rather  low  from  Montreal  to  the  Richelieu 
Rapids,  about  forty  miles  almve  Quebec.  Thence  they 
rise  gradually  to  Cape  Diamond,  or  Quebec.  Where 
we  now  were,  eight  miles  northeast  of  Quebec,  the 
mountains  which  form  the  northern  side  of  this  trijinjile 
wore  only  live  or  six  miles  distant  from  the  river,  grad- 
ually departing  farther  and  farther  from  it,  on  the  west, 
till  they  reach  the  Ottawa,  and  making  haste  to  meet  it 
on  the  cast,  at  Cajie  Tourmente,  now  in  plain  sight  about 
twenty  miles  distant.     So  that  wo  were  travelljijj  in  a 


'i! 


38 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


k-r 


very  narrow  and  sliarp  triangle  between  the  mountains 
and  the  river,  tilted  up  toward  the  mountains  on  the 
north,  never  losing  sight  of  our  great  fellow-traveller  on 
our  right.  According  to  Bouchette's  Topogra[)hical  De- 
scription of  the  Canadas,  we  were  in  the  Seigniory  of 
the  Cote  de  Beau})rc,  in  the  county  of  Montmorenci,  and 
the  district  of  Quebec ;  in  that  part  of  Canada  which 
was  the  first  to  be  settled,  and  where  the  face  of  the 
country  and  the  population  have  undergone  the  least 
change  from  the  beginning,  where  the  influence  of  the 
States  and  of  Europe  is  least  felt,  and  the  inhabitants 
see  little  or  nothing  of  the  world  over  the  walls  of  Que- 
bec. This  Seigniory  was  granted  in  1G3G,  and  is  now 
the  property  of  the  Seminary  of  Quebec.  It  is  the 
most  mountainous  one  in  the  province.  There  are 
some  half  a  dozen  parishes  in  it,  each  containing  a 
church,  parsonage-house,  grist-mill,  and  several  saw- 
mills. We  were  now  in  the  most  westerly  parish  called 
Ange  Gartlien,  or  the  Guardian  Angel,  which  is  bounded 
on  the  west  by  the  Muntmorenei.  The  north  bank  of 
the  St.  Lawrence  here  is  formed  on  a  grand  scale.  It 
slopes  gently,  either  directly  from  the  shore,  or  from  the 
edge  of  an  interval,  till,  at  the  distance  of  about  a  mile, 
it  attains  the  height  of  four  or  five  hundred  feet.  The 
single  road  runs  along  the  side  of  the  slope  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  above  the  river  at  first,  and  from  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  to  a  mile  distant  from  it,  and  afll)rds  fine  views 
of  the  north  channel,  which  is  about  a  mile  wide,  and  of 
the  beautiful  Isle  of  Orleans,  about  twenty  miles  long  by 
five  wide,  where  grow  the  best  apples  and  plums  in  the 
Quebec  District. 

Tiiough  there  was  but  this  single  road,  it  was  a  con- 
tinuous village  for  as  far  as  we  walked  this  day  and  the 


1 


■■fit 


ST.  ANKE. 


39 


nountains 
IS  on  the 
Lvellor  on 
liical  De- 
;nioiy  of 
enci,  and 
la  wliicli 
:e  of  the 
the  least 
e  of  the 
labitants 
of  Que- 

I  is  now 
t  is  the 
ere   are 
lining  a   • 
al   saw- 

h  called 
)onntled 
ank  of 
lie.  It 
om  the 
a  mile, 
.  The 
r  three 
luurter 
J  views 

II  nd  of 
jMg  by 
in  the 

a  con- 
id  (h(j 


next,  or  about  thirty  miles  down  tlie  river,  the  houses 
being  as  near  togetlier  all  the  way  as  in  the  middle  of 
one  of  our  smallest  straggling  country  villages,  and  we 
could  never  tell  by  their  iumiber  when  we  were  on  the 
skirts  of  a  parish,  for  the  road  never  ran  through  the 
fields  or  woods.  AVe  were  told  that  it  was  just  six  miles 
from  one  parish  church  to  another.  I  thought  that  we 
saw  every  house  in  Ange  Gardien.  Therefore,  as  it 
was  a  muddy  day,  we  never  got  out  of  the  mud,  nor 
out  of  the  village,  unless  we  got  over  the  fence  ;  then 
indeed,  if  it  was  on  the  north  side,  we  were  out  of  the 
civili/ed  world.  There  were  sometimes  a  few  more 
houses  near  the  church,  it  is  true,  but  we  had  only  to 
go  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  road  to  the  top  of  the 
bank  to  find  ourselves  on  the  verge  of  the  uninhabited, 
and,  lor  the  most  part,  unexplored  wilderness  stretching 
toward  Hudson's  IJay.  The  farms  accordingly  were 
extremely  long  and  narrow,  each  having  a  frontage  on 
the  river.  l>ou(;hette  accounts  for  this  peculiar  manner 
of  laying  out  a  village  by  referring  to  "the  social  char- 
acter of  the  Canadian  peasant,  who  is  singularly  fond 
of  neighborhood,"  also  to  the  advantage  arising  from  a 
concentration  of  strength  in  Indian  times.  Each  farm, 
called  tcrrc^  he  says,  is,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  three 
arpents  wide  by  thirty  deep,  that  is,  very  nearly  thirty- 
five  by  three  hundred  and  forty-nine  of  our  rods ;  some- 
times one  half  arpent  by  thirty,  or  one  to  sixty;  some- 
times, in  fact,  a  few  yards  by  halt'  a  mile.  Of  course  i 
costs  more  for  fences.  A  n'markable  dill'erence  between 
the  Canadian  and  the  New  England  character  appears 
from  the  fact  that  in  171'),  the  French  government  were 
obliged  to  [>ass  a  law  I'orbidding  the  I'armers  or  ccnsi- 
taiirs  building  on  land  less  than  one  and  a  half  arpents 


40 


A  YxVNKEE  IN  CANADA. 


m 


iili!!!ii 


St 


front  by  thirty  or  forty  deep,  under  a  certain  penalty,  in 
order  to  compel  emigration,  and  bring  the  seigneur's 
estates  all  under  cultivation  ;  and  it  is  thought  that  thoy 
have  now  less  reluctance  to  leave  the  paternal  roof  than 
formerly,  "  removing  beyond  the  sight  of  the  parish 
ypire,  or  the  sound  of  the  parish  bell."  But  I  find  that 
in  the  previous  or  seventeenth  century,  the  complaint, 
often  renewed,  was  of  a  totally  opposite  character, 
namely,  that  the  inhabitants  dispersed  and  exposed 
themselves  to  the  Iroquois.  Accordingly,  about  1G64, 
the  king  was  obliged  to  order  that  "  they  should  make 
no  more  clearings  except  one  next  to  another,  and  that 
they  should  reduce  their  parishes  to  the  form  of  the 
parishes  in  France  as  much  as  possible."  The  Canadians 
of  those  days,  at  least,  possessed  a  roving  spirit  of  ad- 
venture which  carried  them  further,  in  exposure  to 
hardship  and  danger,  than  ever  the  New  England  colo- 
nist went,  and  led  them,  though  not  to  clear  and  colo- 
nize the  wilderness,  yet  to  range  over  it  as  coiireurs  de 
hois,  or  runners  of  the  woods,  or  as  llontan  prefers  to 
call  them  coureitrs  de  risques,  runners  of  risks  ;  to  say 
nothing  of  their  enterprising  priesthood  ;  and  Charlevoix 
thinks  that  if  the  authorities  had  taken  the  right  steps 
to  prevent  the  youth  from  ranging  the  woods  {de  courir 
les  hois)  they  would  have  had  an  excellent  militia  to 
fight  the  Indians  and  English. 

The  road,  in  this  clayey  looking  soil,  was  exceedingly 
muddy  in  consequence  of  the  night's  rain.  We  met  an 
old  woman  directing  her  dog,  which  was  harnessed  to  a 
little  cart,  to  the  least  muddy  part  of  it.  It  was  a  beg- 
garly sight.  But  harnessed  to  the  cart  as  he  was,  we 
heard  him  barking  after  we  had  passed,  though  we 
looked  anywhere  but  to  the  cart  to  see  where  the  dog 


ill    '     'I' 


'II 


pnalty,  in 
ci;:^neiir's 
that  they 
■oof  than 
e   j>arish 
find  that 
>niphiint, 
liiracter, 
exposed 
Jt  1664, 
d  make 
md  tliat 

of  the 
nadians 
;  of  ad- 
sure  to 
id  colo- 
id  colo- 
'eiirs  dc 
jfers  to 

to  say 

rlevoix 

t  steps 

courir 

litia  to 

dingly 
net  an 
d  to  a 
a  beg- 
\»i  we 
h  we 
u  dog 


4 


ST.  ANNE. 


41 


was  that  barked.  The  houses  commonly  fronted  the 
south,  Avhatever  angle  they  might  make  with  the  road  ; 
and  frequently  they  hpd  no  door  nor  cheerful  window  on 
the  roadside.  Half  the  time  they  stood  fifteen  to  forty 
rods  from  the  road,  and  there  was  no  very  obvious  pas- 
sage to  them,  so  that  you  would  suppose  that  there  must 
b(^  another  road  running  by  them.  They  were  of  stone, 
rather  coarsely  mortared,  but  neafely  whitewashed,  almost 
invariably  one  story  high  and  long  in  proportion  to  their 
height,  with  a  shingled  roof,  the  shingles  being  pointed, 
for  ornament,  at  the  eaves,  like  the  pickets  of  a  fence, 
and  also  one  row  half-way  up  the  roof.  The  gables 
sometiiues  projected  a  foot  or  two  at  the  ridge-pole  only. 
Yet  they  were  very  himible  and  unpretending  dwellings. 
They  commonly  had  the  date  of  their  erection  on  them. 
The  windows  opened  in  the  middle,  like  blinds,  and 
were  fre(|uently  provided  with  solid  shutters.  Some- 
times, when  we  walked  along  tlie  back  side  of  a  house 
which  stood  near  the  road,  we  obser'^-ed  stout  stakes 
leaning  against  it,  by  which  the  shutters,  now  pushed 
half  open,  were  fastened  at  night ;  within,  the  houses 
were  neatly  ceiled  with  wood  not  painted.  The  oven 
was  commonly  out  of  doors,  built  of  stone  and  mortar, 
frequently  on  a  raised  i)latform  of  planks.  The  cellar 
was  often  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  in  front  of 
or  behind  the  houses,  looking  like  an  ice-house  with  us 
with  a  lattice  door  for  summer.  The  very  few  mechan- 
ics whom  we  met  had  an  old-Bettyish  look,  in  their 
aprons  and  bonnets  rouf/cs,  like  fools'  caps.  The  men 
wore  comn^only  the  same  bonnet  rouge,  or  red  woollen 
or  worsted  cap,  or  sometimes  blue  or  gray,  looking  to  us 
as  if  they  had  got  up  with  their  night-caps  on,  and,  in 
fact,  I  afterwards  found  that  they  had.     Their  clothes 


I 


!■•-'    I 


tHli,'      i 


42 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


were  of  the  cloth  of  tlie  country,  etofe  du  pays,  gray  or 
some  other  plain  color.  The  women  looked  stout,  with 
gowns  that  stood  out  stiflly,  also,  for  the  most  part,  ap- 
parently of  some  home-made  stuff.  We  also  saw  some 
specimens  of  the  more  characteristic  winter  dress  of  the 
Canadian,  and  I  have  since  frequently  detected  him  in 
New  England  by  his  coarse  gray  homespun  capote  and 
picturesque  red  sash,  and  his  well-furred  cap,  made  to 
protect  his  cars  against  the  severity  of  his  climate. 

It  drizzled  all  day,  so  that  the  roads  did  not  improve. 
We  began  now  to  meet  with  wooden  crosses  frequently, 
by  the  roadside,  about  a  dozen  feet  high,  often  old  and 
toppling  down,  sometimes  standing  in  a  square  wooden 
platform,  sometimes  in  a  pile  of  stones,  with  a  little 
niche  containing  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  or 
of  Christ  alone,  sometimes  with  a  string  of  beads,  and 
covered  with  a  piece  of  glass  to  keep  out  the  rain,  with 
the  words,  pour  la  vierge,  or  Iniri,  on  them.  Frequently, 
on  the  cross-bar,  there  would  be  quite  a  collection  of 
symbolical  knickknacks,  looking  like  an  Italian's  board; 
the  representation  in  wood  of  a  hand,  a  hammer,  spikes, 
pincers,  a  flask  of  vinegar,  a  ladder,  &c.,  the  whole,  per- 
chance, surmounted  by  a  weathercock  ;  but  I  could  not 
look  at  an  honest  weathercock  in  this  walk  without  mis- 
trusting that  tnere  was  some  covert  reference  in  it  to  St. 
Peter.  From  time  to  time  we  passed  a  little  one-story 
chapel-hke  building,  with  a  tin-roofed  spire,  a  shrine, 
perhaps  it  would  be  called,  close  to  the  pathside,  with  a 
lattice  door,  through  which  we  could  see  an  altar,  and 
j^ictures  about  the  walls  ;  equally  open,  through  rain 
and  shine,  though  there  was  no  getting  into  it.  At  these 
places  the  inhabitants  kneeled  and  perhaps  breathed  a 
short  prayer.     We  saw  one  school-house  in  our  walk, 


Jit* ;  : 


vi 


ST.  A^'NE. 


43 


/5,  gray  or 
itout,  with 
t  part,  ap- 

saw  some 
ess  of  tlie 
3d  him  in 
apote  and 
,  made  to 
imate. 

improve, 
•equentlj, 
1  old  and 
e  wooden 
1  a  httle 
Child,  or 
sads,  and 
ain,  with 
3quently, 
'Ction  of 
s  board; 
r,  spikes, 
ole,  per- 
ould  not 
out  mis- 
it  to  St. 
ne-story 

shrine, 
,  with  a 
ar,  and 
l}i  rain 
U  these 
athed  a 
r  walk, 


and  listened  to  the  sounds  which  issued  from  it ;  but  it 
appeared  like  a  place  where  the  process,  not  of  enlight- 
ening, but  of  obfuscating  the  mind  was  going  on,  and 
the  pupils  received  only  so  much  light  as  could  pene- 
trate the  shadow  of  the  Catholic  Church.  The  churches 
were  very  picturesque,  and  their  interior  much  more 
showy  than  the  dwelling-houses  promised.  They  were 
of  stone,  for  it  was  ordered,  in  1G99,  that  that  should  be 
their  material.  They  had  tinned  spires,  and  quaint  or- 
naments. That  of  I'Ange  Gardien  had  a  dial  on  it,  with 
the  Middle  Age  Roman  numerals  on  its  face,  and  somo 
images  in  niches  on  the  outside.  Probably  its  counter- 
part has  existed  in  Normandy  for  a  thousand  years.  At 
the  church  of  Chateau  Richer,  wdiich  is  the  next  parish 
to  I'Ange  Gardien,  we  read,  looking  over  the  wall,  the 
inscriptions  in  the  adjacent  churchyard,  which  began 
with,  "  Jci  (jit "  or  " Repose"  and  one  over  a  boy  con- 
tained, '■'•  Priez  pour  lui."  This  answered  as  well  as 
Pere  la  Chaise.  We  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  cur<:;'s 
house  here,  when  a  sleek  friar-like  personage,  in  his 
sacerdotal  robe,  appeared.  To  our  Parlez-vous  Anglais'^ 
even  he  answered,  "  Non,  Monsieur " ;  but  at  last  we 
made  him  understand  what  we  wanted.  It  was  to  find 
the  ruins  of  the  old  chateau.  "  Ah  !  out  !  oui  !  "  he 
exclaimed,  and,  donning  his  coat,  hastened  forth,  and 
conducted  us  to  a  small  heap  of  rubbish  which  we  had 
already  examined.  He  said  that  fifteen  years  before,  it 
was  ^)/ws  considerable.  Seeing  at  that  moment  three 
little  red  birds  tly  out  of  a  crevice  in  the  ruins,  up  into 
an  arbor-viti\3  tree,  which  grew  out  of  them,  I  asked 
him  their  names,  in  such  French  as  I  could  muster,  but 
he  neither  understood  me  nor  ornithology ;  he  only  in- 
quired where  we  had  appris  a  parler  Frangais  ;  we  told 


Iffl 

■^ 

1  ' 

III 

1 '  1 

If 

j 

if  ^ 

If 

1 

i   "i 

\ 

n| 

\ 

i 

ki 

44 


A  Yi^N'KEE  IN  CANADA. 


him,  dayis  les  J^tats-Unis;  and  so  we  bowed  him  into  his 
house  again.  I  was  surprised  to  find  a  man  wearing  a 
black  coat,  and  with  apparently  no  work  to  do,  even  in 
that  part  of  the  world. 

The  universal  salutation  from  the  inhabitants  whom 
we  met  was  hon  jour,  at  the  same  time  touching  the 
hat ;  with  hon  jour,  and  touching  your  hat,  you  may  go 
smoothly  through  all  Canada  East.  A  little  boy,  meet- 
ing us,  rt'ould  remark,  "  Bon  jour,  3fonsieur  ;  le  cliemin 
est  mauvais,"  Good  morning,  sir ;  it  is  bad  walking. 
Sir  Francis  Head  says  that  the  immigrant  is  forward  to 
"  appreciate  the  happiness  of  living  in  a  land  in  which 
khe  old  country's  servile  custom  of  touching  the  hat  does 
not  exist,"  but  he  was  thinking  of  Canada  West,  of 
course.  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  serious  bore  to  be  obliged 
to  touch  your  hat  several  times  a  day.  A  Yankee  has 
not  leisure  for  it. 

We  saw  peas,  and  even  beans,  collected  into  heaps  in 
the  fields.  The  former  are  an  important  crop  here,  and, 
I  suppose,  are  not  so  much  infested  by  the  weevil  as 
with  us.  There  were  plenty  of  apples,  very  fair  and 
sound,  by  the  roadside,  but  they  were  so  smaU  as  to 
suggest  the  origin  of  the  apple  iu  the  crab.  There  was 
also  a  small  red  fruit  which  they  called  snells,  and 
another,  also  red  and  very  acid,  whose  name  a  little 
boy  wrote  for  me  ^^pinbena."  It  is  probably  the  same 
with,  or  similar  to,  the  pembitia  of  the  voyageurs,  a  spe- 
cies of  viburnum,  which,  according  to  Richardson,  has 
given  its  name  to  many  of  the  rivers  of  Rupert's  Land. 
The  forest  trees  were  spruce,  arbor-vitic,  firs,  birches^ 
beeches,  two  or  three  kinds  of  maple,  bass-wood,  wild- 
cherry,  aspens,  &c.,  but  no  pitch  pines  {Pinus  rigida). 
I  saw  very  few,  if  any,  trees  which  had  been  set  out  for 


ST.  ANNE. 


45 


shade  or  ornament.  The  water  was  commonly  running 
streams  or  springs  in  the  bank  by  the  roadside,  and  was 
excellent.  The  parishes  are  commonly  separated  by  a 
stream,  and  lVe<[uently  the  farms.  I  noticed  that  the 
fields  were  furrowed  or  thrown  into  beds  seven  or  eight 
feet  wide  to  dry  the  soil. 

At  the  Riviere  du  Sault  a  la  Puce,  which,  T  suppose, 
means  the  River  of  the  F'all  of  the  Flea,  was  advertised 
in  English,  as  the  sportsmen  are  English,  "  The  best 
8nij)e-shooting  grounds,"  over  the  door  of  a  small  pub- 
lic-house. Tiieso  words  beinij  Enorlish  affected  me  as 
if  I  had  been  absent  now  ten  years  from  my  country, 
and  for  so  long  had  not  heard  the  sound  of  my  native 
language,  and  every  one  of  them  was  as  interesting  to 
me  as  if  I  had  been  a  snipe-shooter,  and  they  had  been 
snipes.  The  prunella  or  self-heal,  in  the  grass  here,  was 
an  old  acquaintance.  We  frequently  saw  the  inhabitants 
washing,  or  cooking  for  their  pigs,  and  in  one  place 
hackling  flax  by  the  roadside.  It  was  pleasant  to  see 
these  usually  domestic  operations  carried  on  out  of 
doors,  even  in  that  cold  country. 

At  twilight  we  reached  a  bridge  over  a  little  river, 
the  boundary  between  Chateau  liicher  and  St.  Anne, 
le  pretnier  pont  de  St.  Anne,  and  at  dark  the  church  of 
La  L  nne  St.  Anne.  Formerly  vessels  from  France, 
when  they  came  in  sight  of  this  church,  gave  "  a  general 
discharge  oi  their  artillery,"  as  a  sign  of  joy  that  they 
had  escaped  all  the  dangers  of  the  river.  Though  all 
the  whilo  we  had  grand  views  of  the  adjacent  country 
far  up  and  down  the  river,  and,  for  the  most  part,  when 
we  turned  about,  of  Quebec  in  the  horizon  behind  us, 
and  we  never  beheld  it  without  new  surprise  and  admi- 
ration ;  yet,  throughout  our  walk,  the  Great  River  of 


46 


A   YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


I         I 


Canada  on  our  riglit  hand  was  the  main  feature  in  the 
landscape,  and  this  expands  so  rapidly  heh)\v  the  Isle  of 
Orleans,  and  creates  such  a  br(\'uUh  of  level  horizon 
above  its  waters  in  that  directi(-i,  that,  looking  down 
the  river  as  wc  approached  the  extremity  of  that  island, 
the  St.  Lawrence  seemed  to  be  opening  into  the  ocean, 
though  we  were  still  about  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  miles  from  what  can  be  called  its  mouth.* 

When  we  inquired  here  for  a  maisoii  puhllque  we 
were  directed  apparently  to  that  private  house  where 
we  were  most  likely  to  find  entertainment.  There  were 
no  guideboards  where  we  walked,  because  there  was 
but  one  road ;  there  were  no  shops  nor  signs,  because 
there  were  no  artisans  to  speak  of,  and  the  people  raised 
their  own  provisions ;  and  there  were  no  taverns,  because 
there  were  no  travellers.  "We  here  bespoke  lodging  and 
breakfast.  They  had,  as  usual,  a  largo  old-fashioned, 
two-storied  box-stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  out  of 
which,  in  due  time,  there  was  sure  to  be  forthcoming  a 
supper,  breakfast,  or  dinner.  The  lower  half  held  the 
fire,  the  upper  the  hot  air,  and  as  it  was  a  cool  Canadian 
eveninij,  this  was  a  comfortinsT  si";ht  to  us.  Beinj;  four 
or  five  feet  high  it  warmed  the  whole  person  as  you 
stood  by  it.  The  stove  was  plainly  a  very  important 
article  of  furniture  in  Canada,  and  was  not  set  aside 
during  the  summer.  Its  size,  and  the  respect  which  was 
paid  to  it,  told  of  the  severe  winters  which  it  had  seen 
and  prevailed  over.     The  master  of  the  house,  in  his 


1 


lo 

I'l 

Ik 


*  From  McCulloch's  Geographical  Dictionary  we  learn  that  "  im- 
mediately beyond  the  Island  of  Orleans  it  is  a  mile  broad;  where  the 
Saguenay  joins  it,  eighteen  miles;  at  Point  Peter,  upwards  of  thirty; 
at  the  Bay  of  Seven  Islands,  seventy  miles;  and  at  the  Island  of 
Anticosti  (about  three  hundred  and  lifty  miles  from  Quebec)  it  rolls 
a  flcod  into  the  ocean  nearly  one  hundred  miles  across." 


I    \ 


ST.  ANXE. 


47 


■e  in  the 

Isle  of 

horizon 

"^  clown 

t  island, 

ocean, 

twenty- 

f]ue  we 
where 
I'e  were 
-re  was 
because 
J  raised 
because 
ing  and 
hioned, 

out  of 
ming  a 
M  the 
nadian 
ig  four 
as  you 
^ortant 

aside 
'h  was 
1  seen 
in  Iiis 


long-pointed,  red  woollen  cap,  Lud  a  thoroughly  antique 
j)hysiognomy  of  the  old  Norman  stamp.  He  might 
liavo  come  over  with  rTacqucs  Cartier.  His  was  the 
hardest  French  to  undei'stand  of  any  wo  had  heard  yet, 
for  there  was  a  great  dillerence  between  one  speaker 
and  another,  and  this  man  talked  with  a  i)ipe  in  his 
mouth  beside,  a  kind  of  tobacco  French.  I  asked  him 
what  he  called  his  dog.  He  shouted  Brock!  (the  name 
of  the  breed).  "VVe  like  to  hear  the  cat  called  min^  —  min  ! 
min  !  min  !  I  inciuired  if  we  could  cross  the  river  here 
to  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  thinking  to  retiwn  that  way  when 
we  had  been  to  the  Falls.  He  answered, "  SHI  nefait  pus 
tin  trop  grand  vciit^"  H  there  is  not  too  much  wind.  They 
use  small  boats,  or  pirogues,  and  the  waves  are  often  too 
high  for  them.  He  wore,  as  usual,  something  between  a 
moccasin  and  a  boot,  which  he  called  holies  Indienncs,  In- 
dian boots,  and  had  made  himself.  The  tops  were  of  calf 
or  sheep-skin,  and  the  soles  of  cowhide  turned  up  like  a 
mocassin.  They  were  yellow  or  reddish,  the  leather 
never  having  been  tanned  nor  colored.  The  women 
wore  the  same.  He  told  us  that  he  Lra  travelled  ten 
leagues  due  north  into  the  bush.  He  had  been  to  the 
Falls  of  St.  Anne,  and  said  that  they  were  more  beauti- 
ful, but  not  greater,  than  INIontmorenci,  plus  beau,  mais 
lion  plus  grand  que  Montmorenci.  As  soon  as  we  had 
retired,  the  family  commenced  their  devotions.  A  little 
boy  olllciatcd,  and  for  a  long  time  we  heard  him  mut- 
tering over  his  prayers. 

In  the  morning,  after  a  breakfast  of  tea,  maple-sugar, 
bread  and  butter,  and  what  I  suppose  is  called  j^otage 
(potatoes  and  meat  boiled  with  flour),  the  universal  dish 
as  we  found,  perhaps  the  national  one,  I  ran  over  to  the 
Church  of  La  Bonne  St.  Anne,  whose  matin  bell  we 


48 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


I 


had  heard,  it  btMng  Sunday  morning.  Our  book  said 
that  this  church  had  "long  been  an  object  of  interest, 
from  the  miraculous  cures  said  to  have  been  wrought 
on  visitors  to  the  shrine."  There  was  a  profusion  of 
gilding,  and  I  counted  more  than  twenty-five  crutches 
suspended  on  the  walls,  some  lor  grown  persons,  some 
for  children,  which  it  was  to  be  inferred  so  many  sick 
had  been  able  to  dispense  with  ;  but  they  looked  as  if 
they  had  been  made  to  order  by  the  carpenter  who  made 
the  church.  There  were  one  or  two  villagers  at  their 
devotions  at  that  early  hour,  who  did  not  look  up,  but 
when  they  had  sat  a  long  time  with  their  little  book  be- 
fore the  picture  of  one  saint,  went  to  another.  Our 
whole  walk  was  through  a  thoroughly  Catholic  country, 
and  there  was  no  trace  of  any  other  religion.  I  doubt 
if  there  are  any  more  simple  and  unsophisticated  Cath- 
olics anywhere.  Emery  de  Caen,  Cham})lain's  contem- 
porary, told  the  Huguenot  sailors  tliat  "  Monseigneur, 
the  Duke  de  Ventadour  (Viceroy),  did  not  wish  that 
they  should  sing  psalms  in  the  Great  River." 

On  our  way  to  the  Falls,  we  met  the  liabitans  coming 
to  the  Church  of  La  Bonne  St.  Anne,  walking  or  riding 
in  charettcs  by  families.  I  remarked  that  they  were 
universally  of  small  stature.  The  toll-man  at  the  bridge 
over  the  St.  Anne  was  the  first  man  we  had  chanced  to 
meet,  since  we  left  Quebec,  v.'ho  could  speak  a  word  of 
English.  How  good  French  the  inhabifanta  of  this  part 
of  Canada  speak,  I  am  not  competent  to  say ;  I  oidy 
know  that  it  is  not  made  impure  by  being  mixed  with 
English.  I  do  not  know  why  it  should  not  be  as  good 
as  is  spoken  in  Normandy.  Charlevoix,  who  was  here 
a  hundred  years  ago,  observes,  "  The  French  language 
is  nowhere  spoken  with  greater  purity,  there  being  no 


w 


-"    tii 


ST.  ANNE. 


49 


book  said 
of  interest, 
n  wrought 
ofusioii  of 
0  crutches 
sons,  some 
many  sick 
)ked  as  if 
who  made 
■s  at  their 
)k  up,  but 
2  book  be- 
ler.      Our 

2  country, 

I  doubt 
Lted  Cath- 

3  contem- 
iseigneur, 
^vish  that 


IS  commjT 

or  riding 

hey  were 

lie  bridjio 

lanced  to 

AN'ord  of 

this  part 

;  I  only 

xed  with 

as  good 

vas  here 


anguage 
)cing  no 


accent  perceptible  " ;  and  Potherie  said  "  they  had  no 
dialect,  which,  indeed,  is  generally  lost  in  a  colony." 

The  falls,  which  we  were  in  search  of,  are  three  miles 
up  the  St.  Anne.     We  followed  for  a  short  distance  a 
foot-path  up  the  east  bank  of  this  river,  through  hand- 
some sugar-ma})l3  and  arbor-vita3  groves.     Having  lost 
the  path  which  led  to  a  house  where  we  were  to  get 
further  directions,  we  dashed  at  once   into  the  woods, 
steering   by  guess   and  by  compass,  climbing  directly 
through  woods,  a  steep   hill,  or  mountain,  five  or  six 
hundred  feet  high,  which  was,  in  fact,  only  the  bank  of 
the  St.  Lawrence.     Beyond  this  we  by  good  luck  fell 
iiito  another  path,  and  following  this  or  a  branch  of  it, 
at  our  discretion,  through  a  forest  consisting  of  large 
white  pines,  —  the  first  we  had  seen  in  our  walk,  —  we 
at  length  heard  the  roar  of  falling  water,  and  came  out 
at  the  head  of  the   Falls  of  St.  Anne.     We   had  de- 
scended into  a  ravine  or  cleft  in  the  mountain,  whose 
walls  rose  still  a  hundred  feet  above  us,  though  we  were 
near  its  top,  and  we  now  stood  on  a  very  rocky  shore, 
where  the  water  had  lately  llowed  a  dozen  feet  higher, 
as   appeared  by   the  stones  and  drift-wood,  and  largo 
birches   twisted   and    splintered   as   a   farmer  twists   a 
withe.     Here  the  river,  one  or  two  hundred  feet  wide, 
came  flowing  rapidly  over  a  rocky  bed  out  of  that  in- 
teresting wilderness  which  stretches   toward   Hudson's 
liay  and  Davis's  Straits.     Ha-ha  Bay,  on  the  Sague- 
nay,  was  about  one  hundred  miles  north  of  where  we 
stood.    Looking  on  the  map,  I  find  that  the  first  country 
on  the  north  which  bears  a  name  is  that  part  of  Ru- 
pert's Land  called  East  Main.     This  river,  called  after 
the  holy  Anne,  flowing  from  such  a  direction,  here  tum- 
bled over  a  precipice,  at  present  by  three  channels,  Iiow 


rP" 


SI 


iii 


M 


i 


is  ', 


!^i 


k 


50 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


far  down  I  do  not  know,  but  fur  enough  for  all  our  pur- 
poses, and  to  as  good  a  diatancc  as  if  twice  as  far.  It 
matters  little  whether  you  cull  it  one,  or  two,  or  three 
hundred  feet ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  a  sulficient  Water- 
privilege  for  us.  I  cro-si'd  the  principal  channel  di- 
rectly over  the  verge  of  the  fall,  where  it  was  con- 
tracted to  about  fifteen  feet  in  width  by  a  dead  tree, 
which  had  been  dropped  across  and  secured  in  a  cleft 
of  the  opposite  rock,  and  a  smaller  one  a  few  feet 
higher,  which  served  for  a  hand-rail.  This  bridge  was 
rotten  as  well  as  small  and  sli})pery,  being  stripped  ot' 
bark,  and  I  was  obliged  to  seize  a  moment  to  i)as3  when 
the  falhng  water  did  not  surge  over  if,  and  mid-way, 
though  at  the  expense  of  wet  I'eet,  I  looked  down  proba- 
bly more  than  a  hundred  feet,  into  the  mist  and  foam 
below.  This  gave  me  the  freedom  of  an  island  of  pre- 
cipitous rock,  by  which  I  descended  as  by  giant  etc^  •, 
the  rock  being  composed  of  large  cubical  masses,  cloi.^" 
with  delicate  close-huggiiig  lichens  of  various  colors,  k  i  ' 
fresh  and  bright  by  the  moisture,  till  I  viewed  the  first 
fall  from  the  front,  and  looked  down  still  dee[)er  to 
where  the  second  and  third  channels  fell  into  a  remark- 
ably large  circular  basin  worn  in  the  stone.  The  falling 
water  seemed  to  jar  the  very  rocks,  and  the  noise  to  bo 
ever  increasing.  The  vista  down  stream  was  through  a 
narrow  and  deep  cleft  in  the  mountain,  all  white  suds  at 
the  bottom;  but  a  sudden  angle  in  tliis  gorge  prevented 
my  seeing  through  to  the  bottom  of  the  fall.  Returning 
to  the  shore,  I  made  my  way  down  stream  through  tlic 
forest  to  see  how  far  the  fall  extended,  and  how  tiio 
river  came  out  of  that  adventure.  Jt  was  to  clamber 
along  the  side  of  a  pi"eci[)itou3  mountain  of  loose  mo.-sy 
rocks,  covered  with  a  damp  primitive  forr.;t,  and  ternii- 


ST.  ANNE. 


51 


natin'Tf  at  the  bottom  in  an  abrupt  precipice  over  tire 
stream.  This  was  the  east  side  of  the  falL  At  length, 
af'icr  a  qnartei*  of  a  mile,  I  got  down  to  still  water,  and, 
on  looking  up  through  the  winding  gorge,  I  could  just 
see  to  the  foot  of  tlic  fall  which  I  had  before  examined ; 
while  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream,  here  much 
contracted,  rose  a  per})endicular  wall,  I  will  not  venture 
to  say  how  many  hundred  feet,  but  only  that  it  was  the 
highest  perpendicular  wall  of  bare  rock  that  I  ever  saw. 
In  front  of  me  tumbled  in  from  the  summit  of  the  clilF  a 
tributary  stream,  making  a  beautiful  cascade,  which  was 
a  remarkable  fall  in  itself,  and  there  was  a  cleft  in  this 
preci{)ice,  apparently  four  or  five  feet  wide,  perfectly 
straight  up  and  down  from  top  to  bottom,  which,  from 
its  cavernous  depth  and  darkness,  appeared  merely  as  a 
hlark  streak'.  This  precipice  is  not  sloped,  nor  is  the 
material  soft  a,nd  crumbling  slate  as  at  IMontmorenci, 
but  it  rises  perfectly  perpendicular,  like  the  side  of  a 
mountain  fortress,  and  is  cracked  into  vast  cubical 
masses  of  gray  and  black  rock  shining  with  moisture, 
as  if  it  were  the  ruin  of  an  ancient  wall  built  by  Titans. 
Birches,  spruces,  mountai  i-ashes  with  their  bright  red 
berries,  arbor-vitros,  white  pines,  alders,  &c.,  overhung 
this  chasm  on  the  very  verge  of  the  clilF  and  in  the 
crevices,  and  here  and  there  were  buttresses  of  rock 
supporting  trees  part  way  down,  yet  so  as  to  enhance, 
not  injure,  the  etTect  of  the  bare  rock.  Take  it  alto- 
gether, it  was  a  most  wild  and  rugged  and  stupendous 
chasm,  so  deep  and  narrow  where  a  river  had  worn  it- 
self a  passage  through  a  mountain  of  rock,  and  all 
around  was  the  comparatively  untrodden  wilderness. 

This  was  the  limit  of  our  walk  down  the  St.  Law- 
rence.    Early  in  the  afternoon  we  began  to  retrace  our 


11 


w 


52 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


I^':' 


^«M 


|i||| 


steps,  not  being  able  to  cross  the  north  channel  and  re- 
turn by  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  on  account  of  the  irop  grand 
vent,  or  too  great  wind.  Though  the  waves  did  run 
pretty  high,  it  was  evident  that  the  inhabitants  of  Mont- 
raorenci  County  were  no  sailors,  and  made  but  little  use 
of  the  river.  Wlien  we  reached  the  bridge,  between 
St.  Anne  and  Chateau  Richer,  I  ran  back  a  little  way 
to  ask  a  man  in  the  field  the  name  of  the  river  which 
wo  were  crossing,  but  for  a  long  time  I  could  not  make 
out  what  he  said,  for  he  was  one  of  the  more  unintelli- 
gible Jacques  Cartier  men.  At  last  it  flashed  upon  me 
that  it  was  La  Riviere  au  Chien,  or  the  Dog  River, 
which  my  eyes  beheld,  which  brought  to  my  mind  the 
life  of  the  Canadian  voyageur  and  coureur  de  bois,  a 
more  western  and  wilder  Arcadia,  methinks,  than  the 
world  has  ever  seen  ;  for  the  Greeks,  with  all  their 
wood  and  river  gods,  were  not  so  qualified  to  name  the 
natural  features  of  a  country,  as  the  ancestors  of  these 
French  Canadians ;  and  if  any  people  had  a  right  to 
substitute  their  own  for  the  Indian  names,  it  was  they. 
They  have  preceded  the  pioneer  on  our  own  frontiers, 
and  named  the  prairie  for  us.  La  Riviere  au  Chien 
cannot,  by  any  license  of  language,  be  translated  into 
Dog  River,  for  that  is  not  such  a  giving  it  to  the  dog?;, 
and  recognizing  their  place  in  creation  as  the  French 
implies.  One  of  the  tributaries  of  the  St.  Anne  is  named 
La  Riviere  de  la  Rose  ;  and  farther  east  are.  La  Riviere 
de  la  Blondelle,  and  La  Riviere  de  la  Friponne.  Their 
very  riviere  meanders  more  than  our  river. 

Yet  the  impression  which  this  country  made  on  me 
was  commonly  different  from  this.  To  a  traveller  from 
the  Old  World,  Canada  East  may  appear  like  a  new 
country,  and  its  inhabitants  like  colonists,  but  to  me, 


ST.  ANNE. 


53 


coming  from  New  England,  and  being  a  very  green 
traveller  withal,  —  notwithstanding  what  I  have  said 
ahout  Hudson's  Bay,  —  it  ap{)eared  as  old  as  Normandy 
itself,  and  realized  much  that  I  had  heard  of  Europe 
and  the  Middle  Ages.  Even  the  names  of  humble 
Canadian  villages  affected  me  as  if  they  had  been  those 
of  the  renowned  cities  of  antiquity.  To  be  told  by  a 
habitan,  when  I  asked  the  name  of  a  village  in  sight, 
that  it  is  St.  Fereole  or  St.  Anne,  the  Guardian  Angel 
or  the  Hohj  Joseph's ;  or  of  a  mountain,  that  it  was 
Bslange  or  St.  Ihjacintlie  I  As  soon  as  you  leave  the 
States,  these  saintly  names  begin.  aS'^  John  is  the  lirst 
town  you  stop  at  (fortunately  we  did  not  see  it),  and 
thenceforward,  the  names  of  the  mountains,  and  streams, 
and  villages  reel,  if  I  may  so  speak,  with  the  intoxi- 
cation of  poetry ;  —  ChamUij,  Longucil,  Points  aiix 
Trembles,  Bartholomij,  &c.,  &c. ;  as  if  it  needed  only  a 
little  foreign  accent,  a  few  more  liquids  and  vowels  per- 
chance in  the  language,  to  make  us  locate  our  ideals  at 
once.  I  betran  to  dream  of  Provence  and  the  Trouba- 
dours,  and  of  places  and  things  which  have  no  existence 
on  the  earth.  They  veiled  the  Indian  and  the  primitive 
forest,  and  the  woods  toward  Hudson's  Bay,  wer(;  only 
as  the  forests  of  France  and  Germany.  I  could  not  at 
once  bring  myself  to  believe  that  the  inhabitants  who 
pronounced  daily  those  beautiful  and,  to  me,  significant 
names,  lead  as  prosaic  lives  as  we  of  New  England.  In 
short,  the  Canada  which  I  saw  was  not  merely  a  placo 
for  raih'oa<ls  to  termiruite  in  and  for  criminals  to  run  to. 
AVhen  I  asked  the  man  to  whom  I  have  referred,  if 
there  were  any  falls  on  the  Kivion;  an  Chien,  —  for  I  saw 
that  it  came  over  the  same  Jiigh  bank  with  the  Montmo- 
renci  and  St.  Anne,  —  he  answered  that  there   were. 


I 

fi! 
\ 

i 


54 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


»  'M  i 


lliliii 


1   *l 


i    :!i 


IIow  far  ?  I  inquired.  Trois  quatres  lieue.  How  high  ? 
Je  pense,  quatre-vingt-dlx  pieds  ;  that  is,  ninety  feet.  We 
turned  aside  to  look  at  the  falls  of  the  liiviere  du  Sauk 
a  la  Puce,  half  a  mile  from  the  road,  whicli  before  we 
had  passed  in  our  haste  and  ignorance,  and  we  pro- 
nounced them  as  beautiful  as  any  that  we  saw ;  yet 
they  seemed  to  make  no  account  of  them  there,  and, 
when  first  we  inquired  the  way  to  the  Falls,  directed  us 
to  Montraorenci,  seven  miles  distant.  It  was  evident 
that  this  was  the  country  for  waterfalls  ;  that  every 
stream  that  empties  into  the  St.  Lawrence,  for  some 
hundreds  of  miles,  must  have  a  great  fall  or  cascade  on 
it,  and  in  its  passage  through  the  mountains  was,  for  a 
short  distance,  a  small  Sagucnay,  with  its  upright  walls. 
This  fall  of  La  Puce,  the  least  remarkable  of  the  four 
which  we  visited  in  this  vicinitv,  we  had  never  heard  of 
till  we  came  to  Canada,  and  yet,  so  fixr  as  I  know,  there 
is  nothing  of  the  kind  in  New  England  to  be  compared 
with  it.  Most  travellers  in  Canada  would  not  hear  of  it, 
though  they  might  go  so  near  as  to  hear  it.  Since  my 
return  I  find  that  in  the  topographical  description  of  the 
country  mention  is  made  of  "  two  or  three  romantic 
falls  "  on  this  stream,  though  we  saw  and  heard  of  but 
this  one.  Ask  the  inhabitants  respecting  any  stream,  if 
there  is  a  fall  on  it,  and  they  will  perchance  tell  you  of 
something  as  interesting  as  Bashpish  or  the  Catskill, 
which  no  traveller  has  ever  seen,  or  if  they  have  not 
found  it,  you  may  possibly  trace  up  the  stream  and  dis- 
cover it  yourself.  Falls  there  are  a  drug ;  and  we  be- 
came quite  dissipated  iu  respect  to  them.  We  had 
drank  too  much  of  them.  Beside  these  which  I  have 
referred  to,  there  are  a  thousand  other  falls  on  the  St. 
Lawrence  and  its  tributaries  which  I  have  not  seen  nor 


S'a 


ST.  ANXE. 


55 


1 


i 


heard  of;  and  above  all  tliere  is  one  wliicli  I  have  heard 
of,  called  Niagara,  so  that  I  tliink  that  this  river  must  be 
the  most  remarkable  for  its  falls  of  any  in  the  world. 

At  a  house  near  the  western  boundary  of  Chateau 
Tvicher,  whose  master  was  said  to  speak  a  very  little 
English,  having  recently  lived  at  Quebec,  we  got  lodg- 
ing for  the  night.  As  usual,  we  had  to  go  down  a  lane 
to  get  TOund  to  the  south  side  of  the  house  where  the 
door  "-as,  away  from  the  road.  For  these  Canadian 
outv.  '.ave  no  front  d^nr  Properly  speaking.  Every 
part  is  lor  the  use  of  the  occupant  exclusively,  and  no 
part  has  reference  to  the  traveller  or  to  travel.  Every 
New  England  house,  on  the  contrary,  has  a  front  and 
])rincipal  door  opening  to  the  great  world,  though  it  may 
be  on  the  cold  side,  for  it  stands  on  the  highway  of  na- 
tions, and  the  road  which  runs  by  it  comes  from  the  Old 
World  and  goes  to  the  far  West ;  but  the  Canadian's 
door  opens  into  his  back-yard  and  farm  alone,  and  the 
road  which  runs  behind  his  house  leads  only  from  the 
cliurch  of  one  saint  to  that  of  another.  We  found  a 
large  family,  hired  men,  wife  and  children,  just  eating 
their  supper.  They  prepared  some  for  us  afterwards. 
The  hired  men  were  a  merry  crew  of  short,  black-eyed 
fellows,  and  the  wife  a  thin-faced,  sharp-featured  French 
Canadian  woman.  Our  host's  English  staggered  us 
rather  more  than  any  French  wc  had  heard  yet ;  indeed, 
we  found  that  even  we  spoke  better  French  than  he  did 
iMiglish,  and  we  concluded  that  a  less  crime  would  be 
connnitted  on  the  whole  if  we  spoke  French  with  him, 
and  in  no  respect  aided  or  abetted  his  atlemjjts  to  speak 
English.  AVe  had  a  long  and  merry  chat  with  the  fam- 
ily this  Sunday  evening  in  their  spacious  kitchen.  Wiiile 
my  companion  smoked  a  pipe  and  parlcz-vous'd  with  one 


! 

1      1 


V.      1 


56 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


party,  I  parleyed  and  gesticulated  to  another.  The 
whole  family  was  enlisted,  and  I  kept  a  little  girl  writ- 
ing what  wa?«  otherwise  unintelligible.  The  geography 
getting  obscure,  we  called  for  chalk,  and  the  greasy 
oiled  table-cloth  having  been  wiped,  —  for  it  needed  no 
French,  but  only  a  sentence  from  the  universal  language 
of  looks  on  roy  part,  to  indicate  that  it  needed  it,  —  wo 
drew  the  St.  Ltawrence,  with  its  parishes,  thereon,  and 
thenceforward  went  on  swimmingly,  by  turns  handling 
the  chalk  and  committing  to  the  table-cloth  what  would 
otherwise  have  been  left  in  a  limbo  of  unintelligibility. 
This  was  greatly  to  the  entertainment  of  all  parties.  I 
was  amused  to  hear  how  much  use  they  made  of  the 
word  Old  in  conversation  with  one  another.  After  re- 
peated single  insertions  of  it,  one  would  suddenly  throw 
back  his  head  at  the  same  time  with  his  chair,  and  ex- 
claim rapidly,  "omz"/  oui  f  out!  oui! '^  like  a  Yankee 
driving  pigs.  Our  host  told  us  that  the  farms  there- 
abouts were  generally  two  acres,  or  three  hundred  and 
sixty  Fr-  ch  feet  wide,  by  one  ar.d  a  half  leagues,  (?) 
or  a  little  more  than  four  and  a  half  of  our  miles  deep. 
This  use  of  the  word  acre  as  long  measure  ^rises  from 
the  fact  that  the  French  acre  or  arpent,  the  arpent  of 
Paris,  makes  a  square  of  ten  perches,  of  eighteen  feet 
each  on  a  side,  a  Paris  foot  being  equal  to  1.06575 
English  feet.  He  said  that  the  wood  was  cut  off  about 
one  mile  from  the  river.  The  rest  was  "  bush,"  and 
beyond  that  the  "  Queen's  bush."  Old  as  the  country 
is,  each  landholder  bounds  on  the  primitive  forest,  and 
fuel  bears  no  price.  As  I  had  forgotten  the  French  for 
sicUey  they  went  out  in  the  evening  to  the  barn  and  got 
one,  and  so  clenched  the  certainty  of  our  understanding 
one  another.     Then,  wishing  to  learn  if  they  used  the 


-tir. 


ST.   ANNE. 


57 


cradle,  and  not  knowing  any  French  word  for  this  in- 
gtniraent,  I  set  up  the  knives  and  forks  on  the  Uado  of 
the  sickle  to  represent  one ;  at  which  they  all  exclaimed 
that  they  knew  and  had  used  it.  When  siiells  were 
mentioned  they  went  out  in  the  dark  and  plucked  some. 
They  were  pretty  good.  They  said  they  had  three 
kinds  of  plums  growing  wild,  —  blue,  white,  and  red, 
the  two  former  much  alike  and  the  best.  Also  they 
asked  me  if  I  would  have  des  pommes^  some  ai)ples, 
and  got  me  some.  They  were  exceedingly  fair  and 
glossy,  and  it  was  evident  that  there  was  no  worm  in 
them ;  but  they  were  as  hard  almost  as  a  stone,  as  if  the 
season  was  too  short  to  mellov/  them.  We  had  seen  no 
soft  and  yellow  apples  by  the  roadside.  I  declined 
eating  one,  much  as  I  admired  it,  observing  that  it 
would  be  good  dans  le  printemps,  in  the  spring.  In  the 
morning  when  the  mistress  had  set  the  eggs  a-frying 
she  nodded  to  a  thick-set,  jolly-looking  fellow,  who  rolfcd 
up  his  sleeves,  seized  the  long-handled  griddle,  and  com- 
menced a  series  of  revolutions  and  evolutions  with  it, 
ever  and  anon  tossing  its  contents  into  the  air,  where 
they  turned  completely  topsy-turvy  and  came  down 
t'  other  side  up ;  and  this  he  repeated  till  they  were 
done.  That  appeared  to  be  his  duty  when  eggs  were 
concerned.  I  did  not  chance  to  witness  this  perform- 
ance, but  my  companion  did,  and  he  pronounced  it  a 
master-piece  in  its  way.  This  man's  farm,  with  the 
buildings,  cost  seven  hundred  pounds  ;  some  smaller 
ones,  two  hundred. 

In  1827,  Montmorenci  County,  to  which  the  Isle  of 
Orleans  h[is  since  been  added,  was  nearly  as  large  as 
IMapsachusctts,  being  the  eighth  county  out  of  forty  (in 
Lower  Canada)  in  extent ;  but  by  far  the  greater  part 

3* 


^i 


58 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


\F  I ' 


m 


ill  I 


■  i 
I 


I 


«   ! 


I., 


still  must  continue  to  be  waste  land,  lying,  as  it  were, 
under  the  walls  of  Quebec.  

I  quote  these  old  statistics,  not  merely  because  of 
the  difficulty  of  obtaining  more  recent  ones,  but  also 
because  I  saw  there  so  little  evidence  of  any  recent 
growth.  There  were  in  this  county,  at  the  same 
date,  five  Roman  Catholic  churches,  and  no  others, 
five  curds  and  five  presbyteries,  two  schools,  two  corn- 
mills,  four  saw-mills,  one  carding-mill,  —  no  medical 
man,  or  notary  or  lawyer,  —  five  shopkeepers,  four 
taverns  (we  saw  no  sign  of  any,  though,  after  a  little 
hesitation,  we  were  sometimes  directed  to  some  undis- 
tinguished hut  as  such),  thirty  artisans,  and  five  river 
crafts,  whose  tonnage  amounted  to  sixty-nine  tons  ! 
This,  notwithstanding  that  it  has  a  frontage  of  more 
than  thirty  miles  on  the  river,  and  the  population  is 
almost  wholly  confined  to  its  banks.  This  describes 
nearly  enough  what  we  saw.  But  double  some  of  these 
figures,  which,  however,  its  growth  will  not  warrant,  and 
you  have  described  a  poverty  which  not  even  its  severity 
of  climate  and  rujTGjedness  of  soil  will  suffice  to  account 
for.  The  principal  productions  were  wheat,  potatoes, 
oats,  hay,  peas,  flax,  maple-sugar,  &c.,  &c. ;  linen,  cloth, 
or  etojfe  dti  pays,  flannel,  and  homespun,  or  petite  etoffe. 

In  Lower  Canada,  according  to  Bouchette,  there  are 
two  tenures,  —  the  feudal  and  the  socage.  Tenanciers, 
censitaires,  or  liolders  of  laud  e7i  roture,  pay  a  small 
annual  rent  to  the  seigneurs,  to  which  "  is  added  some 
article  of  provision,  such  as  a  couple  of  fowls,  or  a  goose, 
or  a  bushel  of  wheat."  "  They  are  also  bound  to  grind 
their  corn  at  the  inouUn  banal,  or  the  lord's  mill,  where 
one  fourteenth  part  of  it  is  taken  for  his  use  "  as  toll. 
lie  says  that  the  toll  is  one  twelfth  in  the  United  States, 


ST.   ANNi:. 


59 


Avlicrc  competition  exists.  It  is  not  permitted  to  exceed 
one  sixteenth  in  ISIassacliusetts.  But  worse  than  this 
monopolizuig  of  mill  rents  is  what  are  called  lods  ct 
rentes,  or  mutation  fines.  According  to  which  the  seig- 
neur has  "  a  right  to  a  twelfth  i)art  of  the  purchase- 
money  of  every  estate  within  his  seigniory  that  changes 
its  owner  by  sale."  This  is  over  and  above  the  sum 
paid  to  the  seller.  In  such  cases,  moreover,  "  the  lord 
po-sesses  tlie  droit  de  retrait,  which  is  the  privilege  of 
pre-emption  at  the  highest  bidden  price  within  forty 
days  after  the  sale  has  taken  place,"  —  a  right  which, 
however,  is  said  to  be  seldom  exercised.  "  Lands  held 
by  Roman  Catholics  are  further  subject  to  the  payment 
to  their  curates  of  one  twenty-sixth  part  of  all  the  grain 
produced  u[)on  them,  and  to  occasional  assessments  for 
building  and  repairing  churches,"  &c.,  —  a  tax  to  which 
they  are  not  sul)ject  if  the  proprietors  change  their  faith; 
but  they  are  not  the  less  attached  to  their  church  in  con- 
se([uence.  There  are,  however,  various  modifications  of 
the  feudal  tenure.  Under  the  socage  tenure,  which  is 
that  of  the  townships  or  more  recent  settlements,  Eng- 
lish, Irish,  Scotch,  and  others,  and  generally  of  Canada 
West,  the  landholder  is  wh(dly  unshackled  by  such  con- 
ditions as  I  have  quoted,  and  "is  bound  to  no  other'obli- 
g.itious  than  those  of  allegiance  to  the  king  and  obedi- 
ence to  the  laws."  Throughout  Canada  "a  freehold  of 
forty  shillings  yearly  value,  or  the  payment  of  ten 
pounds  rent  annually,  is  the  (pialification  for  voters." 
In  18-4G  more  than  one  sixth  of  the  whole  population  of 
Canada  East  were  qualified  to  vote  for  members  of  Par- 
liament,—  a  greater  proportion  than  enjoy  a  similar 
jirivilege  in  the  United  States. 

The  population  which  we  had  seen  the  last  two  days, 


tmr^ 


60 


A  YANKKE  IN  CANADA. 


—  I  mean  the  habitans  of  Montmorenci  County,  —  ap- 
peared very  inferior,  intellectually  and  even  physically, 
to  that  of  New  England.  In  some  respects  they  were 
incredibly  filthy.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  not  ad- 
vanced since  the  settlement  of  the  country,  that  they 
were  quite  behind  the  age,  and  fairly  represented  their 
ancestors  in  Normandy  a  thousand  years  ago.  Even  in 
respect  to  the  common  arts  of  life,  they  are  not  so  far 
advanced  as  a  frontier  town  in  the  West  three  years 
old.  They  have  no  money  invested  in  railroad  stock, 
and  probably  never  will  have.  If  they  have  got  a 
French  phrase  for  a  railroad,  it  is  as  much  as  you  can 
expect  of  them.  They  are  very  far  from  a  revolution ; 
have  no  quarrel  with  Church  or  State,  but  their  vice  and 
their  virtue  is  content.  As  for  annexation,  they  have 
never  dreamed  of  it ;  indeed,  they  have  not  a  clear  idea 
what  or  where  the  States  are.  The  English  govern- 
ment has  been  remarkably  liberal  to  its  Catholic  sub- 
jects in  Canada,  permitting  them  to  wear  their  own 
fetters,  both  political  and  religious,  as  far  as  was  possible 
for  subjects.  Their  government  is  even  too  good  for 
them.  Parliament  passed  "an  act  [in  1825]  to  provide 
for  the  extinction  of  feudal  and  seigniorial  rights  and 
burdens  on  lands  in  Lower  Canada,  and  for  the  gradual 
conversion  of  those  tenures  into  the  tenure  of  free  and 
common  socage,"  &c.  But  as  late  as  1831,  at  least,  the 
design  of  the  act  was  likely  to  be  frustrated,  owing  to 
the  reluctance  of  the  seigniors  and  peasants.  It  has 
been  observed  by  another  that  the  French  Canadians  do 
not  extend  nor  perpetuate  their  influence.  The  British, 
Irish,  and  other  immigrants,  who  have  settled  the  town- 
ships, are  found  to  have  imitated  the  American  settlers, 
and  not  the  French.     They  reminded  me  in  this  of  the 


ST.  ANNE. 


CI 


/. 


Irnlians,  whom  tlicy  were  slow  to  displace  and  to  whoso 
habits  of  life  they  themselves  more  readily  conformed 
than  the  Indians  to  theirs.  The  Governor-General 
Denouville  remarked,  in  1G85,  that  some  had  long 
thought  that  it  was  necessary  to  bring  the  Indians  near 
them  in  order  to  Frenchify  (franciser)  them,  but  that 
tliey  had  every  reason  to  think  themselves  in  an  error; 
for  those  who  had  come  near  tliem  and  were  even  col- 
lected in  villages  in  the  midst  of  the  colony  had  not 
become  French,  but  the  French,  who  had  haunted  them, 
had  become  savages.  K.ilni  said:  "Tiiough  many  nations 
imitate  the  French  customs,  yet  I  observed,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  the  French  in  Canada,  in  many  respects,  fol- 
low the  customs  of  the  Indians,  witii  whom  they  converse 
every  day.  They  make  use  of  tlie  tob?  ''jo-pipes,  shoes, 
garters,  and  girdles  of  the  Indians.  j'hey  follow  the 
Indian  way  of  making  war  w*  ^  exactness;  :  ley  mix 
the  same  things  with  tobacco  (he  .night  have  said  that 
both  French  and  Eniilish  learned  the  use  itself  of  tins 
weed  of  the  Indian)  ;  they  make  rise  of  the  Indian  bark- 
boats,  and  row  them  in  the  Indian  way  ;  they  wrap 
square  pieces  of  cloth  round  their  feet  instead  of  stock- 
ings ;  and  have  adopted  many  other  Indian  fashions." 
Thus,  while  the  descendants  of  the  Pilgrims  are  teach- 
ing the  p]nglish  to  make  pegged  boots,  the  descendants 
of  the  French  in  T'-inada  are  wearing  the  Indian  moc- 
casin stiU.  The  IVcich,  to  their  credit  be  it  said,  to  a 
certain  extent  respected  the  Indians  as  a  separate  and 
independent  people,  and  spoke  of  them  and  contrasted 
themselves  \\  ith  them  as  the  English  have  never  done. 
They  not  oidy  went  to  war  with  them  as  allies,  but  they 
lived  at  home  with  them  as  neigliburs.  In  1C27  the 
French   kinu   declared    "  lliat  the    descendants  of   the 


!' 


t: 


62 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


i:- 


French,  settled  in"  New  France,  "and  tlie  savages  who 
should  be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  faith,  and 
should  make  profession  of  it,  should  be  counted  and 
reputed  French  born  {Naturels  Francois)  ;  and  as  such 
could  emigrate  to  France,  when  it  seemed  good  to  them, 
and  there  acquire,  will,  inherit,  &c.,  &c.,  without  obtain- 
ing letters  of  naturalization."  When  the  Enijlish  had 
possession  of  Quebec,  in  1G30,  the  Indians,  attempting  to 
practise  the  same  familiarity  with  them  that  they  had 
with  the  French,  were  driven  out  of  their  houses  with 
blows  ;  which  accident  taught  them  a  difference  be- 
tween the  two  races,  and  attached  them  yet  more  to  the 
French.  The  impression  made  on  me  was,  that  the 
French  Canadians  were  even  sharing  the  fate  of  the  In- 
dians, or  at  least  gradually  disappearing  in  what  is  called 
the  Saxon  current. 

The  English  did  not  come  to  America  from  a  mere 
love  of  adventure,  nor  to  truck  with  or  convert  the  sav- 
ages, nor  to  hold  offices  under  the  crown,  as  the  French 
to  a  great  extent  did,  but  to  live  in  earnest  and  with 
freedom.  The  latter  overran  a  great  extent  of  country, 
selling  strong  water,  and  collecting  its  furs,  and  convert- 
ing its  inhabitants,  —  or  at  least  baptizing  its  dying 
infants  (enfa?is  moribonds),  —  without  iviprovuuj  it. 
First,  went  the  coureur  de  hois  with  the  cau  de  vie;  then 
followed,  if  he  did  not  precede,  the  heroic  missionary 
with  the  eau  d'immortcditd.  It  was  freedom  to  hunt, 
and  fish,  and  convert,  not  to  work,  that  they  sought. 
Ilontan  says  that  the  coureurs  do  hois  lived  like  sailors 
ashore.  In  no  part  of  the  seventeenth  century  could 
the  French  bo  said  to  have  had  a  foothold  in  Canada; 
llicy  iield  only  Ity  tlie  fur  of  the  wild  animals  which 
llicy  were  exterminating.    To  enable  ilie  poor  seigneurs 


ST.  ANNE. 


63 


to  get  their  living,  it  was  permitted  Ly  a  decree  passed 
in  tlie  reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteentli,  in  IG80,  "to  all 
nobles  and  gentlemen  settled  in  Canada,  to  engage  iu 
commerce,  without  being  called  to  account  or  reputed 
to  have  done  anything  derogatory."  Tiie  reader  can 
infer  to  what  extent  they  had  engaged  in  agriculture, 
and  how  their  farms  must  have  shone  by  this  time. 
The  New  England  youth,  on  the  other  hand,  were  never 
coureurs  de  hois  nor  voyageurs,  but  backwoodsmen  and 
sailors  rather.  Of  all  nations  the  English  undoubtedly 
have  proved  hitherto  that  they  had  the  most  business 
here. 

Yet  I  am  not  sure  but  I  have  most  sympathy 
with  that  spirit  of  adventure  which  distinguished  the 
French  and  Spaniards  of  those  days,  and  made  them 
especially  the  explorers  of  the  American  Continent, — 
which  so  early  carried  the  former  to  the  Great  Lakes 
and  the  Mississippi  on  the  north,  and  the  latter  to  the 
same  river  on  the  south.  It  was  long  before  our  fron- 
tiers reached  their  settlements  in  the  West.  So  far  as 
inland  discovery  was  concerned,  the  adventurous  ^ ;)irit 
of  the  English  was  that  of  sailors  who  land  but  '.»  .^ 
day,  and  their  enterprise  tlio  enterprise  of  traders. 

There  was  apparently  a  greater  equality  of  condition 
among  the  habitans  of  INIontmorenci  County  than  in 
New  England.  They  are  an  almost  exclusively  .agri- 
cultural, and  so  ilir  independent,  po[)ulati()n,  each  fam- 
ily producing  nearly  all  the  necessaries  of  life  for  itself. 
If  the  Canadian  wants  energy,  perchance  he  possesses 
those  virtues,  social  and  others,  win  jh  the  Yankee  lacks, 
in  which  case  he  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  poor  man. 


■A 


*# 


,,,;\. 


i   (-- 


64 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE    WALLS     OF    QUEBEC. 


"I  I'l' ' 


\  %i. 


-i. 


After  spending  the  night  at  a  farra-liouse  in  Chateau- 
Richer,  about  a  dozen  miles  northeast  of  Quebec,  we 
set  out  on  our  return  to  the  city.  We  stopped  at  the 
next  house,  a  picturesque  old  stone  mill,  over  the  Chi- 
pre,  —  for  so  the  name  sounded,  —  such  as  you  will 
nowhere  see  in  the  States,  and  asked  the  millers  the  age 
of  the  mill.  They  went  up  stairs  to  call  the  master; 
but  the  crabbed  old  miser  asked  why  wc  wanted  to 
know,  and  would  tell  us  only  for  some  compensation. 
I  wanted  French  to  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind.  I 
had  got  enough  to  talk  on  a  pinch,  but  not  to  quarrel ; 
so  I  had  to  come  away,  looking  all  I  would  have  said. 
This  was  the  utmost  incivility  we  met  with  in  Canada. 
In  Beauport,  within  a  few  miles  of  Quebec,  we  turned 
aside  to  look  at  a  church  which  was  just  being  com- 
pleted,— a  very  large  and  handsome  edifice  of  stone,  with 
a  green  bough  stuck  in  its  gable,  of  some  significance  to 
Catholics.  The  comparative  wealth  of  the  Church  in 
this  country  was  apparent ;  for  in  this  village  we  did  not 
see  one  good  house  besides.  They  were  all  humble  cot- 
tages ;  and  yet  this  appeared  to  me  a  more  imposing 
structure  than  any  church  in  Boston.  But  I  am  no 
judge  of  these  things. 

Re-entering  (Quebec  through  St.  John's  Gate,  we  took 
a  caleche  in  IMarket  Square  for  the  Falls  of  the  Chau- 
diere,  about  nine  miles  southwest  of  the  city,  for  which 
we  were  to  i)ay  so  much,  beside  forty  sous  for  lolls.  The 
driver,  as  usual,  spoke  Frcuch  only.     The  nuiubcr  of 


TUE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


Go 


tliese  vehicles  is  very  great  for  so  small  a  town.  They 
are  like  one  of  our  chaises  that  has  lost  its  top.  only 
stouter  and  longer  in  the  body,  with  a  seat  for  the  driver 
where  the  dasher  is  with  us,  and  broad  leather  ears  on 
each  side  to  protect  the  riders  from  the  wheel  and  keep 
children  from  falling  out.  They  had  an  easy  jaunting 
look,  which,  as  our  hours  were  numbered,  persuaded  us 
to  be  riders.  "VVe  met  with  them  on  every  road  near 
Quebec  these  days,  each  with  its  complement  of  two  in- 
quisitive-looking foreigners  and  a  Canadian  driver,  the 
former  evidently  enjoying  their  novel  experience,  for 
commonly  it  is  only  the  horse  whose  language  you  do 
not  understand  ;  but  they  were  one  remove  further  from 
him  by  the  intervention  of  an  equally  unintelligible 
driver.  We  crossed  the  St.  Lawrence  to  Point  Levi 
in  a  French-Canadian  ferry-boat,  which  was  incon- 
venient and  dirty,  and  managed  with  great  noise  and 
bustle.  The  current  was  very  strong  and  tumultuous, 
and  the  boat  tossed  enough  to  make  some  sick,  though  it 
was  only  a  mile  across ;  yet  the  wind  was  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  that  of  the  day  before,  and  we  saw  that  the 
Canadians  had  a  good  excuse  for  not  taking  us  over  to 
the  Isle  of  Orleans  in  a  pirogue,  however  shiftless  they 
may  be  for  not  having  provided  any  other  conveyance. 
The  route  which  we  took  to  the  Cliaudiore  did  not  af- 
ford us  those  views  of  Quebec  wliicU  we  had  cxpe(!ted, 
and  the  country  and  inliabitants  appeared  Ifss  interesting 
to  a  traveller  than  those  we  had  seen.  The  Falls  of  the 
Chaudiere  arc  three  miles  from  its  mouth  on  the  south 
side  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  Though  they  were  the  largest 
which  I  saw  in  Canada,  I  was  not  proportionately  inter- 
ested by  them,  probably  from  satiety.  I  did  not  see  any 
peculiar  propriety  iu  the  name  C/iandiere^  or  aildron.    I 


66 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


(i: . 


}      ; 


n 


II 


|i!f  Cm     lii 


saw  here  the  most  brilliant  rainbow  that  I  ever  imagined. 
It  was  just  across  the  stream  below  the  precipice,  formed 
on  the  mist  which  this  tremendous  fall  produced ;  and  I 
stood  on  a  level  with  the  key-stone  of  its  arch.  It  was 
not  a  few  faint  prismatic  colors  merely,  but  a  full  semi- 
circle, only  four  or  five  rods  in  diameter,  though  as  wide 
as  usual,  so  intensely  bright  as  to  pain  the  eye,  and  ap- 
parently as  substantial  as  an  arch  of  stone.  It  changed 
its  position  and  colors  as  we  moved,  and  was  tlie  brighter 
because  the  sun  shone  so  clearly  and  the  mist  was  so 
thick.  Evidently  a  picture  painted  on  mist  for  the  men 
and  animals  that  came  to  the  falls  to  look  at ;  but  for 
what  special  purpose  beyond  this,  I  know  not.  At  the 
farthest  point  in  this  ridC;  and  when  most  inland,  unex- 
pectedly at  a  turn  in  the  road  wc  descried  the  frowning 
citadel  of  Quebec  in  the  horizon,  like  the  beak  of  a  bird 
of  prey.  We  returned  by  the  river-road  under  the  bank, 
which  is  very  high,  abrupt,  and  rocky.  When  we  were 
opposite  to  Quebec,  I  was  surprised  to  see  that  in  the 
Lower  Town,  under  the  shadow  of  the  rock,  the  lamps 
were  lit,  twinkling  not  unlike  crystals  in  a  cavern,  while 
the  citadel  high  above,  and  we,  too,  on  the  south  shore, 
were  in  broad  daylight.  As  we  were  too  late  for  the 
ferry-boat  that  night,  we  put  up  at  a  maison  de  pension 
at  Point  Levi.  The  usual  two-story  stove  was  here 
placed  against  an  opening  in  the  i)artition  shaped  like 
a  firei)lac{?,  and  so  warmed  several  rooms.  We  ronld 
not  understand  their  French  here  very  well,  but  the 
poUtqe  was  just  like  what  we  had  had  before.  Theni 
were  many  small  chambers  with  doorways  but  no  doors. 
The  walls  of  our  chamber,  all  around  and  overhead, 
were  neatly  ceiled,  and  the  timbers  cased  with  wood  un- 
painted.     The  pillows  were  checkered  and  tasselled,  and 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


67 


the  usual  long-pointed  red  woollen  or  worsted  night-cap 
was  placed  on  each.  I  pulled  mine  out  to  see  how  it 
was  made.  It  was  in  the  form  of  a  double  cone,  one 
end  tucked  into  the  other ;  just  such,  it  appeared,  as  I 
saw  men  wearing  all  day  in  the  streets.  Probably  I 
should  have  put  it  on  if  the  cold  had  been  then,  as  it 
is  sometimes  there,  thirty  or  forty  degrees  below  zero. 

When  we  landed  at  Quebec  the  next  morning,  a  man 
lay  on  his  back  on  the  wharf,  apparently  dying,  in  tlie 
midst  of  a  crowd  and  directly  in  the  path  of  the  horses, 
groaning,  "  0  ma  conscience  !  "  I  thought  that  he  pro- 
nounced his  French  more  distinctly  than  any  I  heard,  as 
if  the  dying  had  already  acquired  the  accents  of  a  uni- 
versal language.  Having  secured  the  only  unengaged 
berths  in  the  Lord  Sydenham  steamer,  which  was  to 
leave  Quebec  before  sundown,  and  being  resolved,  now 
that  I  had  seen  somewhat  of  the  country,  to  get  an  idea 
of  the  city,  I  proceeded  to  walk  round  the  Upper  Town, 
or  fortified  portion,  which  is  two  miles  and  three  quarters 
in  circuit,  alone,  as  near  as  I  could  get  to  the  cliff  and 
the  walls,  like  a  rat  looking  for  a  hole  ;  going  round  by 
the  southwest,  where  there  is  but  a  single  street  between 
the  clilf  and  the  water,  and  up  the  long,  wooden  stairs, 
through  the  suburbs  northward  to  the  King's  Woodyard, 
which  I  thought  must  have  been  a  long  way  from  his 
fireplace,  and  under  the  cliffs  of  the  St.  diaries,  where 
the  drains  issue  under  the  walls,  and  the  witlls  are  loop- 
holed  for  musketry  ;  so  returning  by  IMountain  Street 
and  Prescott  Gate  to  the  Upper  Town.  Having  found 
my  way  by  an  obscure  passage  near  the  St.  Louis  Gate 
to  the  glacis  on  the  north  of  the  citadel  proper,  —  I  be- 
lieve that  I  was  the  only  visitor  then  in  the  city  who  got 
in  there,  —  I  enjoyed  a  prospoct  nearly  as  good  as  from 


68 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


within  the  citadel  itself,  which  I  had  explored  some  days 
before.  As  I  walked  on  the  glacis  I  heard  the  sound  of 
a  bagpipe  from  the  soldiers'  dwellings  in  the  rock,  and 
was  further  soothed  and  affected  by  the  sight  of  a  sol- 
dier's cat  walking  up  a  elected  plank  into  a  high  loop- 
hole, designed  for  mus-catry,  as  serene  as  Wisdom  her- 
self, and  with  a  gracefully  waving  motion  of  her  tail,  as 
if  her  ways  were  ways  of  pleasantness  and  all  her  paths 
were  peace.  Scaling  a  slat  fence,  where  a  small  force 
might  have  checked  me,  I  got  out  of  the  esplanade  into 
the  Governor's  Garden,  and  read  the  well-known  in- 
scription on  Wolfe  and  Montcalm's  monument,  which 
for  saying  much  in  little,  and  that  to  the  purpose,  un- 
doubtedly deserved  the  prize  medal  which  it  received : 

M0RTE5I     .    VIRTUS    .    COMMUNEJl    . 
FAMAM    .     IIISTOIIIA    . 
MONUMENTUM    .    P0STERITA3     . 
DEDIT. 

Valor  gave  them  one  death,  history  one  fame,  posterity 
one  monument.  The  Government  Garden  has  for  nose- 
gays, amid  kitchen  vegetables,  beside  the  common  gar- 
den flowers,  the  usual  complement  of  cannon  directed 
toward  some  future  and  possible  enemy.  I  then  re- 
turned up  St.  Louis  Street  to  the  esplanade  and  ram- 
parts there,  and  went  round  the  Upper  Town  once  more, 
though  I  was  very  tired,  this  time  on  the  inside  of  the 
wall ;  for  I  knew  that  the  wall  was  the  main  thing  in 
(Quebec,  and  had  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  there- 
fore I  must  make  the  most  of  it.  In  fact,  these  are 
the  only  remarkable  walls  we  have  in  North  America, 
though  we  have  a  good  deal  of  Virginia  fence,  it  is  true. 
Moreover,  I  cannot  say  but  I  yielded  in  some  measure 


;:n    n 


THE  WALLS   OF  QUEBEC. 


GO 


to  the  soldier  instinct,  and,  having  but  a  short  time  to 
spare,  thought  it  best  to  examine  the  wall  thoroughly, 
that  I  might  be  the  better  prepared  if  I  should  ever  be 
called  that  way  again  in  the  service  of  my  country.  I 
committed  all  the  gates  to  memory  in  their  order,  which 
did  not  cost  me  so  much  trouble  as  it  would  have  done 
at  the  hundred-gated  city,  there  being  only  five  ;  nor 
were  they  so  hard  to  remember  as  those  seven  of  Boeo- 
tian Thebes ;  and,  moreover,  I  thought  that,  if  seven 
champions  were  enough  against  the  latter,  one  would  be 
enough  against  Quebec,  though  he  bore  for  all  armor 
and  device  only  an  umbrella  and  a  bundle.  I  took  the 
nunneries  as  I  went,  for  I  had  learned  to  distinguish 
them  by  the  blinds  ;  and  I  observed  also  the  foundling 
hospitals  and  the  convents,  and  whatever  was  attached 
to,  or  in  the  vicinity  of  the  walls.  All  the  rest  I  omitted, 
as  naturally  as  one  would  the  inside  of  an  inedible  shell- 
fish. These  were  the  only  pearls,  and  the  wall  the  only 
mother-of-pearl  for  me.  Quebec  is  chiefly  famous  for 
the  thickness  of  its  parietal  bones.  The  technical  terms 
of  its  conchology  may  stagger  a  beginner  a  little  at 
first,  such  as  hanlieiie,  esplanade,  glacis,  ravelin,  cavalier, 
&c.,  &c.,  but  with  the  aid  of  a  comprehensive  dictionary 
you  soon  learn  the  nature  of  your  ground.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  extent  of  the  artillery  barracks,  built  so 
long  ago, —  Casernes  Nouvelles,  they  used  to  bo  called, — 
nearly  six  hundred  feet  in  length  by  forty  in  depth, 
where  the  sentries,  like  peripatetic  philosophers,  were 
so  absorbed  in  thought,  as  not  to  notice  me  when  I 
passed  in  and  out  at  the  gates.  Within,  are  "  small  arms 
of  every  description,  sufficient  for  the  equipment  of 
twenty  thousand  men,"  so  arranged  as  to  give  a  startling 
coup  (Tceil  to  strangers.     I  did  not  cuter,  not  wishing  to 


70 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


<l!l 


'':W< 


!l^       .1 


m 


1 

!  *^  * 

1      ■]':       '■ 

Y 

r  L, 

' 

'  ■ 

A  m 

j^^HJ 

'■ 

^^Hl 

•  ■ 

i 

1 

I 

get  a  black  eye ;  for  they  are  said  to  be  "  in  a  state  of 
complete  repair  and  readiness  for  immediate  use."  Here, 
for  a  short  time,  I  lost  sight  of  the  wall,  but  I  recovered 
it  again  on  emerging  from  the  barrack  yard.  There  I 
met  with  a  Scotchman  who  appeared  to  have  business 
with  the  wall,  like  myself;  and,  being  thus  mutually 
drawn  together  by  a  similarity  of  tastes,  we  had  a  little 
conversation  sub  moinibus,  that  is,  by  an  angle  of  the 
wall  which  sheltered  us.  lie  lived  about  thirty  miles 
northwest  of  Quebec ;  had  been  nineteen  years  in  the 
country ;  said  he  was  disappointed  that  he  was  not 
brought  to  America  after  all,  but  found  himself  still 
under  British  rule  and  where  his  own  language  was  not 
spoken ;  that  many  Scotch,  Irish,  and  English  were  dis- 
appointed in  like  manner,  and  either  went  to  the  States, 
or  pushed  up  the  river  to  Canada  West,  nearer  to  the 
States,  and  where  their  language  was  spoken.  He 
talked  of  visiting  the  States  some  time;  and,  as  he  seemed 
ignorant  of  geography,  I  warned  liim  that  it  was  one 
thing  to  visit  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  and  another  to 
visit  the  State  of  California.  He  said  it  was  colder  there 
than  usual  at  that  season,  and  he  was  lucky  to  have 
brought  his  thick  togue,  or  frock-coat,  with  him  ;  thought 
it  would  snow,  and  then  be  pleasant  and  warm.  That  is 
the  way  we  are  always  thinking.  However,  Lis  words 
were  music  to  me  in  my  thin  hat  and  sack. 

At  the  ramparts  on  the  cliff  near  the  old  Parliament 
House  I  counted  twenty-four  thirty-two-pounders  in  a 
row,  pointed  over  the  harbor,  with  their  balls  piled 
pyramid-wise  between  them,  —  there  are  said  to  be  in 
all  about  one  hundred  and  eighty  guns  mounted  at  Que- 
bec, —  all  which  were  faithfully  kept  dusted  by  officials, 
in  accordance  with  the  motto,  "  In  time  of  peace  pre- 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


71 


pare  for  war  " ;  but  I  saw  no  preparations  for  peace :  slio 
was  plainly  an  uninvited  guest. 

Having  thus  completed  the  circuit  of  this  fortress, 
both  within  and  without,  I  went  no  farther  by  the  wall 
for  fear  that  I  should  become  wall-eyed.  However,  I 
think  that  I  deserve  to  be  made  a  member  of  the  Royal 
Sappers  and  Miners. 

In  short,  I  observed  everywhere  the  most  perfect 
arrangements  for  keeping  a  wall  in  order,  not  even 
permitting  the  lichens  to  grow  on  it,  which  some  think 
an  ornament ;  but  then  I  saw  no  cultivation  nor  pastur- 
ing within  it  to  pay  for  the  outlay,  and  cattle  were 
strictly  forbidden  to  feed  on  the  glacis  under  the  se- 
verest penalties.  Where  the  dogs  get  their  milk  I  don't 
know,  and  I  fear  it  is  bloody  at  best. 

The  citadel  of  Quebec  says,  "I  will  live  here,  and 
you  sha'n't  prevent  me."  To  which  you  return,  that  you 
have  not  the  slightest  objection  ;  live  and  let  live.  The 
Martello  towers  looked,  for  all  the  world,  exactly  like 
abandoned  wind-mills  which  had  not  had  a  grist  to  grind 
these  hundred  years.  Indeed,  the  whole  castle  here  was 
a  "  folly," —  England's  folly,  —  and,  in  more  senses  than 
one,  a  castle  in  the  air.  The  inhabitants  and  the  govern- 
ment are  gradually  waking  up  to  a  sense  of  this  truth ; 
for  I  heard  something  said  about  their  abandoning  the 
wall  around  the  Upper  Town,  and  confining  the  fortifi- 
cations to  the  citadel  of  forty  acres.  Of  course  they 
will  finally  reduce  their  intrenchments  to  the  circum- 
ference of  their  own  brave  hearts. 

The  most  modern  fortifications  have  an  air  of  antiq- 
uity about  them ;  they  have  the  aspect  of  ruins  in  better 
or  worse  repair  from  the  day  they  are  built,  because 
they  are  not  really  the  work  of  this  age.     The  very 


72 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


;u) 


it 

[my 


I- 


place  where  the  sohlier  resides  has  a  peculiar  teudency 
to  become  old  and  dilapidated,  as  the  word  barrack  im- 
plies. I  couple  all  fortifications  in  my  mind  with  the 
dismantled  Spanish  forts  to  be  found  in  so  many  parts 
of  the  world  ;  and  if  in  any  phice  tlicy  are  not  actually 
dismantled,  it  is  because  that  there  the  intellect  of  the 
inhabitants  is  dismantled.  The  commanding  officer  of 
an  old  fort  near  Valdivia  in  South  America,  when  a 
traveller  remarked  to  him  that,  with  one  discharge,  his 
gun-carrJages  would  certainly  fall  to  pieces,  gravely  re- 
plied, "No,  I  am  sure,  sir,  thoy  would  stand  two." 
Perhaps  the  guns  of  Quebec  would  stand  three.  Such 
structures  carry  us  back  to  the  Middle  Ages,  the  siege 
of  Jerusalem,  and  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  and  the  days  of  the 
Bucaniers.  In  the  armory  of  the  citadel  they  showed 
me  a  clumsy  implement,  long  since  useless,  which  they 
called  a  Lombard  gun.  I  thought  that  their  whole  cita- 
del was  such  a  Lombard  gun,  lit  object  for  the  museums 
of  the  curious.  Such  works  do  not  t  nsist  with  the  de- 
velopment of  the  intellect.  Huge  stone  structures  of 
all  kinds,  both  in  their  erection  and  by  their  influence 
when  erected,  rather  oppress  than  liberate  the  mind. 
They  are  tombs  for  the  souls  of  men,  as  frequently  for 
their  bodies  also.  The  sentinel  with  his  musket  beside 
a  man  with  his  umbrella  is  spectral.  There  is  not  suffi- 
cient reason  for  his  existence.  Does  my  friend  there, 
with  a  bullet  resting  on  half  an  ounce  of  powder,  think 
that  he  needs  that  argument  in  conversing  with  me?  The 
fort  was  the  first  institution  that  was  founded  here,  and 
it  is  amusing  to  read  in  Champlain  how  assiduously  they 
worked  at  it  almost  from  the  first  day  of  the  settlement. 
The  founders  of  the  colony  thought  this  an  excellent  site 
for  a  wall,  —  and  no  doubt  it  was  a  better  site,  in  some 


THE  WALLS  OF   QUEBEC. 


73 


fc 


respects,  for  a  wall  tlian  for  a  city,  —  but  it  cliaticetl  tluit 
a  city  got  behind  it.  It  chanced,  too,  tiiat  :i  Lower  Town 
got  before  it,  and  clung  like  an  oyster  to  tlie  outside  of 
the  crags,  as  you  may  see  at  low  tide.  It  is  as  if  you 
were  to  come  to  a  country  village  surrounded  by  pali- 
sades in  the  old  Indian  fashion,  —  interesting  only  as  a 
relic  of  antiquity  and  barbarism.  A  fortified  town  is 
like  a  man  cased  in  the  heavy  armor  of  antiquity,  with 
a  horse-load  of  broadswords  and  small  arms  sluiiii  to 
him,  endeavoring  to  y,  »  about  his  business.  Or  is  this 
an  indispensable  machinery  for  the  good  government  of 
the  country  ?  The  inliabitants  of  California  succeed 
pretty  well,  and  are  doing  better  and  better  every  day, 
without  any  such  institution.  Wliat  use  has  this  for- 
tress served,  to  look  at  it  even  from  the  soldiers'  point  of 
view  ?  At  first  the  French  took  care  of  it ;  yet  "Wolfe 
sailed  by  it  with  impunity,  and  took  the  town  of  Quebec 
without  experiencing  any  hindcrance  at  last  from  its 
fortifications.  They  were  only  the  bone  for  which  the 
parties  fought.  Then  the  English  began  to  take  care  of 
it.  So  of  any  fort  in  the  world, —  that  in  Boston  harbor, 
for  instance.  We  shall  at  length  hear  that  an  enemy 
sailed  by  it  in  the  night,  for  it  cannot  sail  itself,  and 
both  it  and  its  inhabitants  are  always  benighted.  How 
often  we  read  that  the  enemy  occupied  a  position  which 
commanded  the  old,  and  so  the  fort  was  evacuated. 
Have  not  the  scliool-house  and  the  printing-press  occu- 
pied a  position  wliich  commands  such  a  fort  as  this  ? 

However,  this  is  a  ruin  kept  in  remarkably  good  re- 
pair. There  are  some  eight  hundred  or  thousand  men 
there  to  exhibit  it.  One  regiment  goes  bare-legged  to 
increase  the  attraction.  If  you  wish  to  study  the  nuis- 
cles  of  the  log  about  the  knee,  repair  to  (Quebec.     This 


# 


.li,    II 


74 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


universal  exhibition  in  Canad'i  i  ,'  tue  tools  and  sinews 
of  war  reminded  me  of  the  keeper  .'  a  menagerie  show- 
ing his  animals'  ehiws.  It  was  the  English  leopard 
showing  his  claws.  Always  the  royal  something  or 
other ;  as,  at  tlie  menagerie,  the  Royal  Bengal  Tiger. 
Silliman  states  that  "  the  cold  is  so  intense  in  the  winter 
nights,  particularly  on  Cape  Diamond,  that  the  sentinels 
cannot  stand  it  more  than  one  hour,  and  are  relieved  at 
the  expiration  of  that  time  " ;  "  and  even,  as  it  is  said, 
at  much  shorter  intervals,  in  case  of  the  most  extreme 
cold."  What  a  natural  or  unnatural  fool  must  that  sol- 
dier be,  —  to  say  nothing  of  his  government,  —  who, 
when  quicksilver  is  freezing  and  blood  is  ceasing  to  be 
quick,  will  stand  to  have  his  face  frozen,  watching  the 
walls  of  Quebec,  though,  so  far  as  they  are  concerned, 
both  honest  and  dishonest  men  all  the  world  over 
have  been  in  their  beds  nearly  half  a  century,  —  or  at 
least  for  that  space  travellers  have  visited  Quebec  only 
as  they  would  read  history.  I  shall  never  again  wake 
up  in  a  colder  night  than  usual,  but  I  shall  think  how 
rapidly  the  sentinels  are  relieving  one  another  on  the 
walls  of  Quebec,  their  quicksilver  being  all  frozen,  as  if 
apprehensive  that  some  hostile  Wolfe  may  even  then 
be  scaling  the  Heights  of  Abraham,  or  some  persever- 
ing Arnold  about  to  issue  from  the  wilderness  ;  some 
Malay  or  Japanese,  perchance,  coming  round  by  the 
northwest  coast,  have  chosen  that  moment  to  assault 
the  citadel !  Why  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  find  the 
sentinels  still  relieving  one  another  on  the  walls  of  Nin- 
eveh,  which  have  so  long  been  buried  to  the  world ! 
Wh.at  a  troublesome  thinjj  a  wall  is  !  I  thought  it  was 
to  defend  me,  and  not  I  it.  Of  course,  if  they  had  no 
wall  they  would  not  need  to  have  any  sentinels. 


'^li' 


TIIK   WALLS   OF   QUKBEC. 


70 


You  might  venture  to  advertise  tliis  farm  a^  well 
fenced  with  substantial  stone  walls  (sayincj  nothin;^ 
about  the  ciglit  hundred  Highlanders  and  Royal  Irish 
who  are  recjuired  to  keep  thorn  from  toppling  down)  ; 
stock  and  tools  to  go  with  the  land  if  desired.  But  it 
would  not  bo  wise  for  the  stiller  to  exhibit  his  farm- 
book. 

Why  should  Canada,  wild  and  unsettled  as  it  is,  im- 
press us  as  an  older  country  than  the  States,  unless 
because  her  institutions  are  old  ?  All  things  ajipeared 
to  contend  there,  as  I  have  implied,  with  a  certain  rust  of 
antiquity,  —  such  as  forms  on  old  armor  and  iron  guns, 
—  the  rust  of  conventions  and  formalities.  It  is  said 
that  the  metallic  roofs  of  jNIontreal  and  Quebec  keep 
sound  and  bright  for  forty  years  in  some  cases.  But  if 
the  rust  was  not  on  the  tinned  roofs  and  spires,  it  was 
on  the  inhabitants  and  their  institutions.  Yet  the  work 
of  burnishing  goes  briskly  forward.  I  imagined  that  the 
government  vessels  at  the  wharves  were  laden  with  rot- 
ten-stone and  oxalic  acid,  —  that  is  what  the  first  ship 
from  England  in  the  spring  comes  freighted  with,  —  and 
the  hands  of  the  colonial  legislature  are  cased  in  wash- 
leather.  The  principal  exports  must  be  gunny  bags, 
verdigrease,  and  iron  rust.  Those  who  first  built  this 
fort,  coming  from  Old  Franco  with  the  memory  and 
tradition  of  feudal  days  and  customs  weighing  on  them, 
were  unquestionably  behind  their  age;  and  those  vvtio 
now  inhabit  and  repair  it  are  behind  their  ancestors  or 
predecessors.  Those  old  chevaliers  thought  that  they 
could  transplant  the  feudal  system  to  America.  It  has 
been  set  out,  but  it  has  not  thriven.  Notwithstanding 
that  Canada  was  settled  first,  and,  unlike  New  England, 
for  a  long  series  of  yearc  enjoyed  the  fostering  care  of 


ft'    t 


f 


fi  ill 


t;'1 


76 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


the  mother  country,  —  notwithstanding  that,  as  Charle- 
voix tells  us,  it  had  more  of  the  ancient  noblesse  among  its 
early  settlers  than  any  other  of  the  French  colonics,  and 
perhaps  than  all  the  others  together,  —  there  are  in  both 
the  Canadas  but  600,000  of  French  descent  to-day,  — 
about  half  so  many  as  the  population  of  IMassachusetts. 
The  whole  population  of  both  Canadas  is  but  about 
1,700,000  Canadians,  P^nglish,  Irish,  Scotch,  Indians, 
and  all,  put  together !  Samuel  Laing,  in  his  essay  on 
the  Northmen,  to  whom  especially,  rather  than  the  Sax- 
ons, he  refers  the  cne)gy  and  indeed  the  excellence  of 
the  English  character,  observes  that,  when  they  occupied 
Scandinavia,  "  each  man  po>sessod  his  lot  of  land  with- 
out reference  to,  or  acknowledgment  of,  any  other  man, 
— -  without  any  local  chief  to  whom  his  militar}'  service 
or  other  quit-rent  for  his  land  was  due,  —  without  ten- 
ure from,  or  duty  or  obligation  to,  any  sujierior,  real  or 
fictitious,  except  the  general  sovereign.  The  individual 
settler  lield  his  land,  as  his  descendants  in  Norway  still 
express  it,  by  the  same  right  as  the  king  held  his  crown, 
—  by  udal  right,  or  adel,  —  that  is,  noble  right."  The 
French  have  occupied  Canada,  not  iiddlhj,  or  by  noble 
right,  but  feudally,  or  by  ignoble  right.  They  are  a 
nation  of  peasants. 

It  was  evident  that,  both  on  account  of  the  feudal 
system  and  the,  aristocratic  government,  a  private  man 
was  not  worth  so  much  in  Canadii  as  in  the  United 
States  ;  and,  if  your  wealth  in  any  measure  consists  in 
manliness,  in  originality,  and  independence,  you  had 
better  stay  here.  How  could  a  peaceable,  freelhinking 
man  live  neighbor  to  the  Forty-ninth  Keginient?  A  New- 
Englander  would  naturally  be  a  bad  citizen,  pro])abl}'  a 
rebel,  there,  —  certainly  if  he  were  already  a  rel)el  at 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


77 


home.  I  suspect  that  a  poor  man  who  is  not  servile  is 
a  much  rarer  plienomenon  there  and  in  England  than 
in  the  Northern  United  States.  An  Englisinnan,  me- 
thinks,  —  not  to  speak  of  other  European  nations, — 
habitually  regards  himself  merely  as  a  constituent  part 
of  the  English  nation  ;  lie  is  a  member  of  the  royal 
regiment  of  l^nglishmen,  and  is  proud  of  his  company, 
as  he  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  it.     But  an  American, 

—  ono  Avho  has  made  a  tolerable  use  of  his  opportuni- 
ties,—  cares,  comparatively,  little  about  such  tilings,  and 
is  advantageously  nearer  to  the  primitive  and  the  ulti- 
mate condition  of  man  in  these  respects.  It  is  a  govern- 
ment, that  English  one,  —  like  most  other  European  ones, 

—  that  cannot  afford  to  be  forgotten,  as  you  would  nat- 
urally forget  it ;  under  which  one  cannot  be  wholesomely 
neglected,  and  grow  up  a  man  and  not  an  Englishman 
merely,  —  cannot  be  a  poet  even  without  danger  of  being 
made  poet-laureate  !  Give  me  a  country  where  it  is  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  a  government  that 
docs  not  understand  you  to  let  you  alone.  ( )ne  would 
say  that  a  tru(^  Englishman  could  speculate  only  within 
bounds.  (It  is  true  the  American.^  have  proved  that 
lluiy,  in  more  than  one  sense,  can  spocubitc  without 
bounds.)  He  has  to  pay  his  respects  to  so  many  things, 
that,  before  he  knows  it,  he  nuty  have  paid  away  all  he  is 
worth.  AVliat  makes  the  United  .States  government,  on 
the  whole,  mere  tolerable,  —  I  meati  for  us  lucky  white 
men,  —  is  the  fact  that  there  is  so  much  less  of  govern- 
ment with  us.  Hero  it  is  only  once  in  a  month  or  a 
year  that  a  man  neeih  remember  that  institution  ;  and 
those  who  go  to  Congress  ean  \)\i\y  th(!  game  of  the 
Kilkenny  cats  there  without  fatal  consequences  to  those 
who  stay  at  home,-  -their  term  is  bO  short :  but  in  Canada 


' 


i 


u\ 


78 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


|!l. 


you  are  rcminJod  of  tbe  government  every  tlay.  It  pa- 
rades itself  before  you.  It  is  not  content  to  be  the  ser- 
vant, but  will  be  the  master ;  and  every  day  it  goes  out 
to  the  l*lains  of  Abj  aham  or  to  the  Champ  de  Mars  and 
exhibits  itself  and  its  tools.  Everywhere  there  appeared 
an  attempt  to  make  and  to  preserve  trivial  and  other- 
wise transient  distinctions.  In  the  streets  of  Montreal 
and  Quebec  you  met  not  only  with  soldiers  in  red,  and 
shuflling  prif'sis  in  unmi-takablc  black  ami  white,  with 
Sisters  of  Charity  gone  into  mourning  for  their  deceased 
relative,  —  not  to  mention  the;  nuns  of  various  ordeis 
depending  on  the  fashion  of  a  tear,  of  whom  you  heard, — 
but  youths  belonging  to  some  seminary  or  other,  wear- 
ing coats  edged  with  white,  who  looked  as  if  their  ex- 
panding hearts  w^ere  already  repressed  with  a  piece  of 
tape.  In  short,  the  iidiabitants  of  Canada  aj)peared  to 
be  suffering  between  two  fires,  —  the  soldiery  and  the 
priesthood. 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE    SCKNKRY    OF    QUKBKC  ;   AM)    THE    111VI':R    ST. 

LAWllKXCi;. 


i     1 


It 


About  twelve  o'clock  this  day,  being  in  the  Lower 
Town,  I  looked  up  at  the  signal-gun  by  the  flag-stalF  on 
Cape  Diamond,  and  saw  a  soldier  u{)  in  the  heavens 
there  making  prcj)arations  to  fire  it,  —  both  he  and  the 
gun  in  bold  relief  against  the  sky.  Soon  after,  being 
warned  by  the  boom  of  the  gun  to  look  up  again,  there 
was  only  the  cannon  in  the  .■-ky,  the  smoke  just  blowing 


QUEBEC,  AND  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 


79 


away  from  it,  as  if  the  soldier,  having  touched  it  off,  had 
concealed  himself  for  effect,  leaving  the  sound  to  echo 
grandly  from  shore  to  shore,  and  far  up  and  down  the 
river.     This  answered  the  purpose  of  a  dinner-horn. 

There  are  no  such  restaurateurs  in  Quebec  or  Montreal 
as  there  are  in  Boston.  I  hunted  an  hour  or  two  in  vain 
in  this  town  to  find  one,  till  I  lost  my  appetite.  In  one 
house,  'called  a  restaurateur,  where  lunches  were  adver- 
tised, I  found  only  tables  covered  with  bottles  and  glasses 
innumerable,  containing  apparently  a  sam[)le  of  every 
li(piid  that  has  been  known  since  the  earth  dried  up  after 
the  flood,  but  no  scent  of  solid  food  did  I  perceive  gross 
enough  to  excite  a  hungry  mouse.  In  short,  I  saw  notliing 
to  tem[)t  me  there,  but  a  large  map  of  Canada  against 
the  wall.  In  another  place  I  once  more  got  as  far  as 
the  bottles,  and  then  asked  for  a  bill  if  fare  ;  was  told 
to  walk  up  stairs ;  had  no  bill  of  fare,  nothing  but  fare. 
"  Have  you  any  pies  or  puddings  ?  "  I  in(j[uired,  for  I  am 
obh'ged  to  keep  my  savageness  in  check  by  a  low  diet. 
"No,  sir;  we  've  nice  mutton-cliop,  roast  beef,  beef-stetU^, 
cutlets,"  and  so  on.  A  burly  Knglishm;  who  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  siege  of  a  [>iecc  of  roast  beef,  and  of 
whom  I  have  never  had  ..,  front  view  to  this  day,  turned 
half  round,  with  his  ur: 'th  half  full,  and  remarked, 
"  You  '11  find  no  pies  noi*  i/udfimgs  in  Quebec,  sir;  they 
don't  make  any  here.  *  I  fouiid  that  it  was  even  so,  and 
therefore  bought  sri^'c  musty  Cuko  and  some  fruit  in  the 
open  market-[)lac".  Tldki  market-place  by  the  water- 
side, where  the  old  women  sat  by  their  tables  in  the 
open  air,  amid  a  dense  crowd  jal>bering  all  languages, 
was  the  best  place  in  (.Quebec  to  observe  the  people ;  and 
the  ferry-boats,  continually  comii.g  and  going  with  tlieir 
motley  crews  and  cargoes,  added  aiuch  to  the  entertain- 


I 


ft 


80 


A  YANKEE  IN   CANADA. 


I*  «• 


\i 


ment.  I  also  saw  them  getting  water  from  the  river, 
for  Quebec  is  supplied  witii  water  by  curt  and  barrel. 
This  city  impressed  me  as  wholly  foreign  and  French, 
for  I  scarcely  heard  tlie  sound  of  the  English  language 
in  the  streets.  More  than  three  fifths  of  the  inhabitants 
are  of  French  origin ;  and  if  the  traveller  did  not  visit 
the  fortifications  particularly,  he  might  not  be  reminded 
that  the  English  have  any  foothold  here  ;  and,  in  any 
case,  if  he  looked  no  farther  than  Quebec,  they  would 
appear  to  have  planted  themselves  in  Canada  only  as 
they  have  in  Spain  at  Gibraltar ;  and  he  who  plants 
upon  a  rock  cannot  ext)ect  much  increase.  The  novel 
sights  and  sounds  by  the  water-side  made  me  think  of 
such  ports  as  Boulogne,  Dieppe,  Rouen,  and  Havre  dc 
Grace,  which  I  have  never  seen  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt 
that  they  present  similar  scenes.  I  was  much  amused 
from  first  to  last  with  the  sounds  made  by  the  charette 
and  caleche  drivers.  It  was  that  part  of  their  foreign 
language  that  you  heard  the  most  of,  —  the  French  they 
talked  to  their  horses,  —  and  which  tl'ey  talked  tho 
loudest.  It  was  a  more  novel  sound  to  me  than  tho 
French  of  convei'sation.  The  streets  resounded  with  the 
cries,  ^^Qui  done/"  ^^ March  tot!"  I  sus[)ect  that  many 
of  our  horses  wdiich  came;  from  Canada  would  prick  up 
their  cars  at  tliese  sounds.  Of  the  shops,  I  was  most 
attracted  by  those  wliere  furs  and  Indian  works  were 
sold,  as  containing  articles  of  genuine  Canadian  manu- 
lacture.  I  have  been  told  that  two  townsmen  of  mine, 
who  were  interested  in  horticulture,  travelling  once  in 
Canada,  and  being  in  (Quebec,  thought  it  would  be  a 
good  opportunity  to  obtain  seeds  of  the  real  Canada 
crook-neck  s(iuash.  So  they  went  into  a  shop  wliere 
Buch  things  were  advertised,  and  inquired  lor  the  fame. 


QUEBEC,  AND   THE  ST.   LAWKENCE. 


81 


The  sliopkcoper  had  tlie  very  thing  they  wanted.  "  But 
are  you  sure,"  they  asked,  "  that  these  are  the  genuine 
Canada  crook-neck?"  "Oyes,  gentlemen,"  answered 
he,  "  they  are  a  lot  which  I  hav(i  received  directly  from 
Boston."  I  resolved  that  my  Canada  crook-neck  seeds 
should  be  such  as  had  grown  in  Canada. 

Too  much  has  not  been  said  about  the  sjenery  of 
Quebec.  The  fortifieations  of  Cape  Diamond  are  onmi- 
present.  They  preside,  they  frown  over  the  river  and 
surrounding  country.  You  travel  ten,  twenty,  thirty 
miles  up  or  down  the  river's  banks,  you  ramble  lifteeu 
miles  amid  the  hills  on  either  side,  and  then,  when  you 
have  long  ^ince  Ibrgotten  them,  perchance  slept  on  them 
by  the  way,  at  a  turn  of  the  road  or  of  your  body,  there 
they  are  still,  with  their  geometry  against  the  sky.  The 
child  that  is  born  and  brought  up  thirty  miles  distant, 
and  has  never  travelled  to  the  city,  reads  his  country's 
liistory,  sees  the  level  lines  of  the  citadel  amid  the  cloud- 
built  citadels  in  the  western  horizon,  and  is  told  that  that 
is  (.Quebec.  No  wonder  if  .Jacques  Cartier's  pilot  ex- 
claimed in  Norman  French,  Que  bee  !  —  "  What  a  beak  I  " 
—  when  lie  saw  this  cape,  as  some  suppose.  Every 
modern  traveller  involuntarily  u-es  a  similar  expression. 
Partieulai'ly  it  i-^  said  that  its  sudden  apparition  on  turn- 
ing Point  Levi  makes  a  memorable  impression  on  him 
who  arrives  by  water.  The  view  from  Cape  Diamond 
has  been  compared  by  European  travellers  with  the 
most  remarkable  views  of  a  similai*  kind  in  Europe, 
such  as  from  Edinburgh  Castle,  (libraliar,  Cinira,  and 
others,  and  preferred  by  many.  A  main  peculiarity  in 
thie,  compared  with  other  vi<;ws  which  I  have  beheld,  is 
that  it  is  from  th''  ramparts  of  a  forlihed  city,  and  not 
from  a  solitary  and  majestic  river  cape  alone  that  this 


( 


in  I 


if! 


is 


I- 


WiHii 


82 


A  YANKKl':  IN  CANADA. 


view  is  obtainod.  I  associate  tlie  beauty  of  Quebec 
witli  the  steel-like  and  flasliinp^  air,  which  may  be  pecu- 
liar to  that  season  of  the  year,  in  which  the  blue  ilowers 
of  the  suc(;ory  and  some  late  golden-rods  and  buttercups 
on  the  summit  of  Cape  Diamond  were  almost  my  only 
companions,  —  the  former  bluer  than  the  heavens  they 
faced.  Yet  even  I  yielded  in  some  degree  to  the  in- 
fluence of  historical  association^,  and  found  it  hard  to 
attend  to  the  geology  of  Cape  Diamond  or  the  botany 
of  the  Plains  of  Abraliam.  I  still  remember  the  harbor 
far  beneath  me,  sparkling  like  silver  in  the  sun, —  the 
answering  liighlands  of  Point  Levi  on  the  southeast, — 
the  fi'owning  Cap  Tourmenie  al»ruptly  ])ounding  the  sea- 
ward view  far  in  the  northeast, —  the  villai.!;es  of  Lorette 
and  Charlesbourg  on  the  nortl;,  —  and  further  west  the 
distant  Val  Cartier,  sparkling  with  white  cottages,  hardly 
removed  by  distance  through  the  clear  ;iir, —  not  to  men- 
ti(m  a  few  blue  mountains  aloni;  the  horizon  in  that  di- 
rcction.  You  look  out  from  th*;  ram[)arts  of  the  citadel 
beyond  the  frontiers  of  civilization.  Yonder  small 
grou})  of  hills,  according  to  the  guide-book,  ibrms  "the 
portal  of  the  wilds  which  are  trodden  only  by  the  feet 
of  the  Indian  hunters  as  far  as  Ilud.-on's  Bay."  It  is 
but  a  few  years  since  Bouchette  declared  that  the  coun- 
try ten  leagues  north  of  the  liritish  capital  of  North 
America  was  as  little  known  as  the  middle  of  Africa. 
Thus  the  citadel  under  my  feet,  and  all  historical  asso- 
ciations, Tvore  Kwcj/t  a,w;iy  again  by  an  influence  from 
th(i  vvilds  and  lV(>in  nature,  as  if  tlu;  beholder  had  read 
her  history, — .",n  mlhience  which,  like  tho  Croat  liiver 
itself,  IIowinI  r<'om  the  Arctic  fastnesses  and  AVestern 
forests  V,  iih  irresistible  tide  over  all. 

Tho  most  intore^ling  obji.'ct  in  Canada  to  me  was  the 


A  '^ 


V  V 


^>^iW'^ 


L«yta 


.^m^'"^ 


QUKDKO,   AND   TIIK  ST.   LAWKKXCE. 


83 


Kiver  St.  Lawrence,  known  far  and  w'ule,  antl  for  centu- 
ries, as  the  Great  River.  Cartier,  its  disc-overcr,  sailed  up 
it  as  far  as  INIontreal  in  1535,  —  nearly  a  century  before 
the  coming  of  the  Pilgrims ;  and  I  have  seen  a  pretty 
accurate  map  of  it  so  far,  containing  the  city  of  "  Iloche- 
laga  "  and  the  river  "  Sagueuay,"  iu  Ortelius's  Thca- 
triim  Orhis  Terrarum,  [)rinted  at  Antwerp  in  1575, — • 
the  first  edition  having  appeared  in  1570,  —  in  which 
the  famous  cities  of  "Nornmbegu"  and  "  Orsinora " 
stand  on  the  rouuh-blocked  continent  where  New  Kufi- 
land  is  to-day,  and  the  fabulous  but  unfortunate  Islo  of 
Demons,  and  Frislunt,  and  others,  lie  olF  and  on  in  the 
imfrequented  sea,  some  of  them  prowling  near  what  is 
now  tlie  course  of  the  Cunai'd  steamers.  Iji  this  pon- 
derous folio  of  the  "  Ptolemy  of  his  age,"  said  to  be  the 
first  general  .atlas  published  after  the  revival  of  the 
sciences  in  Euroi)e,  only  one  page  of  which  is  devot(!(J 
to  the  topognii)hy  of  the  Norus  Orfns,  the  St.  Law- 
rence is  the  only  large  river,  whether  drawn  from  fancy 
or  from  observation,  on  the  east  side  of  North  America. 
It  was  famous  in  Kurope  before  the  other  rivers  of 
North  America  were  heard  of,  notwithstanding  that  the 
moutb  of  the  Missisf^ippi  is  said  to  have  been  discovered 
first,  and  its  stream  was  reached  by  Soto  not  long  after; 
but  the  St.  Lawrence  h-.d  attracted  settlers  to  its  cold 
shores  long  before  the  Mississii)[)i,  or  even  the  Hudson, 
was  known  to  the  world.  Schoolcraft  was  misled  by 
Cialliitiu  into  s;iying  that  Narvm^z  discovered  the  Mis- 
sissippi. I)e  Vega  does  not  say  so.  The  ilrst  explorers 
declared  that  the  summer  in  that  country  was  as  warm 
as  France,  and  they  named  one  of  the  bays  in  the  Gulf 
of  St.  Lawrence  the  Lay  of  Chaleur,  or  of  warmth  ; 
but  they  said  ntdiiing  aljout  the  winter  being  as  cold  as 


I 
i'. 


cW^' 


84 


A  YANKEE   IX   CANADA. 


m  \ 


Greenland.  In  tlie  manuscript  account  of  Carticr's 
second  voyage,  attributed  by  some  to  that  navigator 
himself,  it  is  called  "  the  greatest  river,  without  com- 
parison, that  is  known  to  have  ever  been  seen."  The 
savages  told  him  tluit  it  was  the  "  chcmiu  du  Canada,'^ — 
the  higliway  to  Canada,  —  "  wliich  goes  so  far  that  no 
man  had  ever  been  to  tlie  end  that  they  had  lieard."  The 
Saguenay,  one  of  its  tributaries,  which  the  panorama 
has  made  known  to  New  Enirland  within  three  vears,  is 
described  by  Cartier,  in  1535,  and  still  more  particularly 
by  Jean  Alphonse,  in  1542,  who  adds,  "  I  think  that  this 
river  comes  from  the  sea  of  Cathay,  for  in  this  place 
there  issues  a  strong  current,  and  there  runs  there  a 
terrible  tide."  The  early  ex[)lorers  saw  many  whales 
and  other  sea-monsters  far  up  the  St.  Lawrence.  Cham- 
plain,  in  his  map,  represents  a  whale  spouting  in  the 
harbor  of  Quebec,  three  hundred  and  sixty  miles  from 
Avhat  is  called  the  mouth  of  the  river ;  and  Charlevoix 
takes  his  reader  to  the  summit  of  Cape  Diamond  to  see 
the  "  porpoise?',  while  as  snow,"  sporting  on  the  surface 
of  the  harbor  of  Quebec.  And  Boucher  says  in  IGGl, 
"frt)ra  there  (Tadoussac)  to  Montreal  is  found  a  great 
quantity  o^  Marsoniiis  hhtncs.''  Several  whales  have  been 
taken  pretty  high  up  the  river  since  I  was  there.  P.  A. 
Gosse,  in  his  "  Canadian  Naturalist,"  p.  171  (London, 
1840),  speaks  of  "  the  white  doli)hin  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence (Delphinus  Canadensis),"  as  considered  ditforent 
from  those  of  the  sea.  "  The  Natural  History  Society 
of  Montreal  ollered  a  prize,  a  few  years  ago,  tor  an  essay 
on  the  Cetacca  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  which  was,  I  be- 
lieve, handed  in."  In  CMiamplaln's  day  it  was  com- 
monly called  "  the  (Jreat  River  of  Canada."  More 
than  one  nation  has  claimed  it.     In  l)gilby's  "  America 


\\  I     % 


QUKBEC,   AKD  Till:   ST.   LAWRENCK. 


85 


of  1G70,"  in  the  nmp  Hovi  BclgiL  it  is  called  "  De 
rJroote  Rivier  van  Niew  Ncderlandt."  It  bears  dlllbr- 
ent  names  in  ditrerent  parts  of  its  course,  as  it  flows 
tlirough  what  were  formerly  the  territories  of  different 
nations.  From  the  Gulf  to  Lake  Ontario  it  is  called  at 
present  the  St.  Lawrence  ;  from  IMontreal  to  the  same 
place  it  is  frequently  called  the  Cateraqui ;  and  higher 
up  it  is  known  successively  as  the  Niagara,  Detroit,  St. 
Chiir,  St.  INIary's,  and  St.  Louis  rivers.  Humboldt, 
si)eaking  of  the  Orinoco,  says  that  this  name  i^  unknown 
in  the  interior  of  the  country  ;  so  likewise  the  tribes 
that  dwell  about  the  sources  of  the  St.  Lawrence  have 
never  heard  the  name  which  it  bears  in  the  lower  part 
of  its  course.  It  rises  near  another  father  of  waters,  — 
the  Mississippi,  —  issuing  from  a  remarkable  spring  far  up 
in  the  woods,  called  Lake  Superior,  fifteen  hundred  miles 
in  circumference  ;  and  several  other  springs  there  are 
thereabouts  which  feed  it.  It  makes  such  a  noise  in  its 
tumbling  down  at  one  place  as  is  hoard  all  round  the 
world.  Bouchette,  the  Surveyor-General  of  the  Cana- 
das,  calls  it  "  the  most  splendid  river  on  the  globe  " ; 
SJiys  that  it  is  two  thousand  statute  miles  long  (more 
recent  geogr{ii)hers  make  it  four  or  five  hundred  miles 
longer)  :  that  at  the  Riviere  du  Sud  it  is  eleven  miles 
wide;  at  the  Traverse,  thirteen;  at  the  Paps  of  Matane, 
twenty-five  ;  at  the  Seven  Islands,  seventy-three ;  and 
at  its  mouth,  from  Cape  Rosier  to  the  INIingan  Settle- 
ments in  Labrador,  near  one  hundred  and  live  (?)  miles 
wide.  According  to  Captain  Bayfield's  recent  chart  it 
is  about  ninety-six  geographical  miles  wide  at  the  latter 
place,  measuring  at  right  angles  with  the  stream.  It  has 
much  the  larg(>st  estuary,  regarding  both  length  and 
breadth,  of  any  river  on   the  globe.      Humboldt  says 


i 


m 

m 


k>i 


8G 


A  YANKKK  IN  CaNADA. 


that  the  river  Plate,  which  has  tlie  broadest  estuary  of 
the  Soutli  American  rivers,  is  ninety-two  geographical 
miles  wide  at  its  mouth;  also  he  found  the  Orinoco  to 
he  more  than  three  miles  wide  at  five  hundred  and  sixty 
miles  from  its  mouth ;  but  he  d  03  not  tell  us  that  ships 
of  six  hundred  tons  can  sail  up  it  so  far,  as  they  can  up 
the  St.  Lawrence  tA  Montreal, — an  equal  distance.  If  he 
had  described  a  fleet  of  such  ships  at  anchor  in  a  city's 
port  po  far  inland,  we  should  h;ive  got  a  very  different 
idea  of  the  Orinoco.  Perhaps  Charlevoix  describes  the 
St.  Lawrence  truly  as  the  most  navigable  river  in  the 
world.  Between  Montreal  and  Quebec  it  averages 
about  two  miles  wide.  The  tide  is  felt  as  far  up  as 
Three  Rivers,  four  hundred  and  thirty-two  miles,  which 
is  as  far  as  from  Boston  to  AVashington.  As  far  up  as 
Cap  aux  Oyes,  sixty  or  seventy  miles  below  Quebec, 
Kalni  found  a  great  part  of  the  plants  near  the  shore  to 
be  marine,  as  glas-wort  {SaUcornia)^  seaside  pease 
(Pisum  maritimiiin),  sea-milkwort  (Gl(nix),  beach-grass 
(Psamma  arenarium),  seaside  plantain  {Plantaxjo  mail- 
fima),  the  sea-rocket  (Biinias  calile).  «fcc. 

The  geographer  Guyot  observes  that  the  IMaranon  is 
three  thousand  miles  long,  and  gathers  its  waters  from 
a  surface  of  a  million  and  a  half  square  miles  ;  that  the 
Mississippi  is  also  three  thousand  miles  long,  but  its 
basin  covers  only  from  eight  to  nine  hundred  thousand 
square  miles  ;  that  the  St.  Lawrence  is  eighteen  hun- 
dred miles  long,  and  its  basin  covers  more  than  a  million 
sipiare  miles  (Darby  says  live  hundred  thousand)  ;  and 
speaking  of  the  lakes,  he  adds,  "  These  vast  fresh-water 
seas,  together  with  the  St.  Lawrence,  cover  a  surface  of 
nearly  one  hundred  thousand  square  miles,  and  it  has 
been  caloidated  that  they  contain  about  one  half  of  all 


r    (Ml 


Qui:ni:c,  and  tiii:  st.  lawrencl. 


87 


the  fresli  water  on  the  surfncc  of  our  planet."  But  all 
those  (calculations  arc  necessarily  very  rude  antl  inaccu- 
rate. Its  tributaries,  the  Ottawa,  St.  Maurice,  and  Sa- 
guenay,  are  great  rivers  themselves.  The  latter  is  said 
to  be  more  than  one  thousand  (?)  feet  deep  at  its  mouth, 
while  its  cliffs  rise  perjjendicularly  an  equal  distance 
above  its  surface.  Pilots  sav  there  are  no  soundinixs  till 
one  hundred  and  fifty  mile-;  up  the  St.  Lawreu'H'.  The 
greatest  soundin;:^  in  the  river,  given  on  IJayfield's  char' 
of  the  gulf  and  river,  is  two  hundred  and  twenty-eigUt. 
fathoms.  Mc'i  iggart,  an  engineer,  observes  that  '•  the 
Ottawa  is  larg  dian  all  the  rivers  in  Great  Britain, 
were  they  rum  .-^  in  one."  The  traveller  Grey  writes: 
*'  A  do/.en  Danubes,  Rliines,  Taguses,  and  Thamcses 
would  be  nothing  to  twenty  miles  of  fresh  water  in 
breadth  (as  whcTC  he  happened  to  be),  from  ten  to 
forty  fathoms  in  depth."  And  again :  "  There  is  not 
perhaps  in  tlie  whole  extent  of  this  immense  continent 
so  fine  an  aj^proach  to  it  as  by  the  river  St.  Ljiwrencj?. 
In  the  Souihcrn  States  you  have,  in  general,  a  level 
country  for  many  miles  inland  ;  here  you  arc  introduced 
at  once  into  a  majestic  scenery,  where  everything  is  on 
a  grand  scale,  —  mountains,  woods,  lakes,  rivers,  preci- 
pices, w\aterfalls." 

We  have  not  yet  the  data  for  a  minute  comparison  of 
the  St.  Lawnmce  with  the  South  American  rivers ;  but 
it  is  obvious  that,  taking  it  in  connection  with  its  lakes, 
its  estuary,  and  its  falls,  it  easily  bears  off*  the  palm 
from  all  the  rivers  on  the  globe  ;  for  though,  as  Bou- 
chette  observes,  it  may  not  carry  to  the  ocean  a  greater 
volume  of  water  than  the  Amazon  and  Mississippi,  its 
surface  and  cubic  mass  are  far  greater  than  theirs.  But, 
iinfo'  unately,  this  noble  river  is  closed  by  ice  from  the 


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A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


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beginning  of  December  to  tlie  middle  of  April.  The 
arrival  of  the  lirst  vessel  from  England  when  the  ice 
breaks  up  is,  therefore,  a  great  event,  as  when  the  sal- 
mon, shad,  and  alewives  come  up  a  river  in  the  spring 
to  relieve  the  famishing  inhabitants  on  its  banks.  Who 
can  say  wiiat  would  have  been  the  history  of  this  conti- 
nent if,  as  has  been  suggested,  this  river  had  emptied 
into  the  sea  where  New  York  stands ! 

After  visitinor  the  IMuseum  and  taking  one  more  look 
at  the  wall,  I  made  haste  to  the  Lord  Sydenham  steamer, 
which  at  five  o'clock  was  to  leave  for  Montreal.  I  had 
already  taken  a  seat  on  deck,  but  finding  that  I  had  still 
an  hour  and  a  half  to  spare,  and  remembering  that  largo 
map  of  Canada  which  I  had  seen  in  the  parlor  of  the 
restaurateur  in  my  search  after  pudding,  and  realizing 
that  I  might  never  see  the  like  out  of  the  country,  I 
returned  thither,  asked  liberty  to  look  at  the  map,  rolled 
up  the  mahogany  table,  put  my  handkerchief  on  it,  stood 
on  it,  and  copied  all  I  wanted  before  the  maid  came  iu 
and  said  to  me  standing  on  the  table,  "  Some  gentlemen 
want  the  room,  sir " ;  and  I  retreated  without  having 
broken  the  neck  of  a  single  bottle,  or  my  own,  very 
thankful  and  willing  to  pay  for  all  the  solid  food  I  had 
got.  We  were  soon  abreast  of  Cap  Rouge,  eight  miles 
above  Quebec,  after  we  got  underway.  It  was  in  this 
])lacc,  then  called  '''■Fort  da  France  lioi/,'"  that  the  Sieur 
de  lioberval  with  his  company,  having  sent  home  two 
of  his  three  ships,  spent  the  winter  of  1512-43.  It 
Tipi^ears  that  they  I'ared  in  the  following  maniier  (I 
translate  I'rom  the  original)  :  "  Each  mess  had  only  two 
loaves,  weighing  each  a  pound,  and  half  a  })ound  of  beef. 
Tiiey  ate  pork  ibr  dinner,  with  half  a  pound  of  butter, 
and  beef  for  supper,  with  about  two  handfuls  cf  beans, 


QUEBEC,  AND   THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


89 


without  butter.  "Wednesdays,  Fridays,  and  Saturdays 
they  ate  salted  cod,  and  sometimes  green,  for  dinner, 
with  butter  ;  and  porpoise  and  beans  for  su])per.  ]Mon- 
sieur  Roberval  administ(n'ed  good  justice,  and  punished 
each  according  to  his  offence.  One,  named  Michel  Gail- 
Ion,  was  hung  for  theft ;  John  of  Nantes  was  put  in 
irons  and  imprisoned  for  his  fault ;  and  others  were  like- 
wise put  in  irons  ;  and  many  were  whipped,  both  men 
and  women  ;  by  which  means  they  lived  in  peace  and 
tran(|uillity."  In  an  account  of  a  voyage  up  this  river, 
printed  in  the  Jesuit  Relations  in  the  year  1  GGi,  it  is 
said :  "  It  was  an  interesting  navigation  for  us  in  ascend- 
ing  the  river  from  Cap  Tourment  to  Quebec,  to  see  on 
this  side  and  on  that,  for  the  space  of  eight  leagues,  the 
farms  and  the  houses  of  the  company,  built  by  our 
French,  all  along  these  shores.  On  the  right,  the 
seigniories  of  Beauport,  of  Notre  Dames  dcs  Anges ; 
and  on  the  left,  this  beautiful  Isle  of  Orleans."  The 
same  traveller  names  among  the  fruits  of  the  country 
observed  at  the  Isles  of  Illchelicu,  at  the  head  of  Lake 
St.  Peter,  "  kinds  {des  especes)  of  little  apples  or  haws 
(semelles),  and  of  pears,  which  only  ripen  with  the 
frost." 

Night  came  on  before  we  had  passed  the  high  banks. 
Wo  had  come  from  Montreal  to  Quebec  in  one  night. 
The  return  voyage,  against  the  stream,  takes  but  an 
hour  longer.  Jaccpies  Cartier,  the  first  white  man  who 
is  known  to  have  ascended  this  river,  thus  s[)eaks  of  his 
voyage  from  what  is  now  Quebec;  to  the  foot  of  Ljiko 
St.  Peter,  or  about  half-way  to  IMontreal :  "  From  the 
said  day,  the  I'Jth,  even  to  the  28th  of  the  said  month, 
[September,  153')]  we  had  been  navigating  up  the  said 
river  without  losing  hour  or  day,  during  which  time  wo 


ill 


iij 

1 " 

•s 

! 

■ 

J 

,1 


90 


A  YANKEE  IN  CANADA. 


H   ! 


S  I. 


had  seen  and  found  as  much  country  and  lands  as  level 
as  we  could  desire,  full  of  the  most  beautiful  trees  in 
the  world,"  which  he  goes  on  to  describe.  But  we 
merely  sle[)t  and  woke  again  to  find  that  we  had  passed 
through  all  that  country  which  he  was  eight  days  in 
sailing  through.  He  must  have  had  a  troubled  sleep. 
We  were  not  long  enough  on  the  river  to  realize  that  it 
had  length ;  we  got  only  the  impression  of  its  breadth, 
as  if  we  had  passed  over  a  lake  a  mile  or  two  in  breadth 
and  several  miles  long,  though  we  might  thus  have  slei)t 
through  a  European  kingdom.  Being  at  the  head  of 
Lake  St.  Peter,  on  the  above-mentioned  28th  of  Sep- 
tember, dealing  with  the  natives,  Cartier  says :  "  We 
inquired  of  them  by  signs  if  this  was  the  route  to  IIo- 
chelaga  [Montreal] ;  and  they  answered  that  it  was,  and 
that  there  were  yet  three  days'  journeys  to  go  there." 
lie  finally  arrived  at  Ilochelaga  on  the  2d  of  October. 

When  I  went  on  deck  at  dawn  we  had  already  passed 
through  Lake  St.  Peter,  and  saw  islands  ahead  of  us. 
Our  boat  advancing  with  a  strong  and  steady  pulse  over 
the  calm  surface,  we  felt  as  if  we  were  permitted  to 
be  awake  in  the  scenery  of  a  dream.  Many  vivacious 
Lombardy  poplars  along  the  distant  shores  gave  them  a 
novel  and  lively,  though  artificial,  look,  and  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  slender  and  graceful  elms  on  both 
shores  and  islands.  The  church  of  Varennes,  fifteen 
miles  from  Montreal,  was  conspicuous  at  a  great  distance 
before  us,  appearing  to  belong  to,  and  rise  out  of,  the 
river ;  and  now,  and  before.  Mount  Royal  indicated  where 
the  city  was.  We  arrived  about  seven  o'clock,  and  set 
forth  immediately  to  ascend  the  mountain,  two  miles 
distant,  going  across  lots  in  spite  of  numerous  signs 
threatening  the  severest  penalties  to  trespassers,  past 


QUEBEC,  AND  TUE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


91 


an  old  building  known  as  tlio  Mac  Tavisli  property,  — 
Simon  Mac  Tavisli,  I  suppose,  whom  Silliman  refers  to 
as  ''in  a  sense  the  founder  of  the  Northwestern  Com- 
pany." His  tomb  was  behind  in  the  woods,  with  a  re- 
markably higli  wall  and  higher  monument.  The  family 
returned  to  Europe.  He  could  not  have  imagined  how 
dead  lie  would  be  in  a  few  years,  and  all  the  more  dead 
and  forgotten  for  being  buried  under  such  a  mass  of 
gloomy  stone,  where  not  even  memory  could  get  at  him 
■without  a  crowbar.  Ah  !  poor  man,  with  that  last  end 
of  his  !  However,  he  may  have  been  the  worthiest  of 
mortals  for  aught  that  I  know.  From  the  mountain-top 
we  got  a  view  of  tlie  whole  city ;  the  Hat,  fertile,  exten- 
sive island ;  the  noble  sea  of  the  St.  Lawrence  swelling 
into  lakes ;  the  mountains  about  St.  Hyacinth,  and  in 
Vermont  and  New  York ;  and  the  mouth  of  the  Ottawa 
in  the  west,  overlooking  that  St.  Ann's  where  the  voya- 
geur  sings  his  "  parting  hymn,"  and  bids  adieu  to  civili- 
zation,— a  name,  thanks  to  Moore's  verses,  the  most  sug- 
gestive of  poetic  associations  of  any  in  Canada.  We, 
too,  clrnbed  the  hill  which  Cartier,  first  of  white  men, 
ascended,  and  named  Mont-real,  (the  3d  of  October, 
O.  S.,  1535,)  and,  like  him,  "  we  saw  the  said  river  as 
far  as  we  could  see,  grand,  Icwcje,  et  spacieux,  going  to 
the  southwest,"  toward  that  land  whither  Donnacona 
had  told  the  discoverer  that  he  had  b(  "n  a  month's  jour- 
ney from  Canada,  where  there  grew  '^ force  Canelle  ct 
Girojle,"  much  cinnamon  and  cloves,  and  where  also,  as 
the  natives  told  him,  were  three  great  lakes  and  after- 
ward line  mer  douce,  —  a  sweet  sea,  —  de  htquelle  u'est 
menfioti  avoir  vii  le  hoiit,  of  which  there  is  no  mention 
to  have  seen  the  end.  But  instead  of  an  Indian  town 
far    in  the   interior   of  a   new  world,  with   guides   to 


if 


fe! ; 


92 


A  YANKEE  IN   CANADA. 


sliow  us  where  the  river  came  from,  we  found  a  splen- 
did and  bustling  stone-built  city  of  white  men,  and  only 
a  few  squalid  Indians  offered  to  sell  us  baskets  at  the 
Lacliine  Kailroad  Depot,  and  Ilochelaga  is,  perchance, 
but  the  fancy  name  of  an  engine  company  or  an  eating- 
house. 

AVe  left  Montreal  Wednesday,  the  2d  of  October,  late 
in  the  afternoon.  In  the  La  Prairie  cars  the  Yankees 
made  themselves  merry,  imitating  the  cries  of  the  cha- 
rette-drivers  to  perfection,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of 
some  French-Canadian  travellers,  and  they  kept  it  up 
all  tlie  way  to  Boston.  I  saw  one  person  on  board  the 
boat  at  St.  John's,  and  one  or  two  more  elsewhere  in 
Canada,  wearing  homespun  gray  great-coats,  or  capotes, 
with  conical  and  comical  hoods,  which  fell  back  between 
their  shoulders  like  small  bags,  ready  to  be  turned  up 
over  the  head  when  occasion  required,  though  a  hat 
usurped  that  place  now.  They  looked  as  if  they  would 
be  convenient  and  proper  enough  as  long  as  the  coats 
were  new  and  tidy,  but  would  soon  come  to  have  a  beg- 
garly and  unsiglitly  look,  akin  to  rags  and  dust-holes. 
We  reached  Burlington  early  in  the  morning,  where  the 
Yankees  tried  to  pass  off  their  Canada  coppers,  but  tiie 
news-boys  knew  better.  Returning  through  the  Green 
Mountains,  I  was  reminded  that  I  had  not  seen  in  Can- 
ada such  brilliant  autumnal  tints  as  I  had  previously 
seen  in  Vermont.  Perhaps  there  was  not  yet  so  great 
and  sudden  a  contrast  with  the  summer  heats  in  the  for- 
mer country  as  in  these  mountain  valleys.  As  we  were 
passing  through  Ashburnham,  by  a  new  white  house 
which  stood  at  some  distance  in  a  field,  one  passenger 
exclaimed,  so  that  all  in  the  car  could  hear  him,  "  There, 
there  's  not  so  good  a  house  as  that  in  all  Canada ! " 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


9" 


o 


I  (lid  not  much  wonder  at  his  remark,  for  there  is  a 
neatness,  as  well  as  evident  prosperity,  a  certain  elastic 
easiness  of  circumstances,  so  to  spoak,  when  not  rich, 
ahout  a  New  England  house,  as  if  the  proprietor  could 
at  least  afford  to  make  repairs  in  the  spring,  which  tho 
Canadian  houses  do  not  suggest.  Though  of  stone,  they 
are  no  hetter  constructed  than  a  stone  barn  would  bo 
with  us ;  the  only  building,  except  the  chateau,  on  which 
money  and  taste  are  expended,  being  the  church.  In 
Canada  an  ordinary  New  England  house  would  be  mis- 
taken for  the  chateau,  and  while  every  village  here  con- 
tains at  least  several  gentlemen  or  "  squires,"  there  there 
is  but  one  to  a  seigniory. 

I  got  home  this  Thursday  evening,  having  spent  just 
one  week  in  Canada  and  travelled  eleven  hundred  miles. 
The  whole  expolise  of  this  journey,  including  two  guide- 
books and  a  map,  which  cost  one  dollar  twelve  and  a 
half  cents,  was  twelve  dollars  seventy-five  cents.  I  do 
not  suppose  that  I  have  seen  all  British  America  ;  that 
could  not  be  done  by  a  cheap  excursion,  unless  it  were 
a  cheap  excursion  to  the  Icy  Sea,  as  seen  by  Ilcarne  or 
McKenzie,  and  then,  no  doubt,  some  interesting  features 
would  be  omitted.  I  wished  to  go  a  little  way  behind 
that  word  Canadense,  of  which  naturalists  make  such 
frequent  use  ;  and  I  should  like  still  right  well  to  make 
a  longer  excursion  on  foot  through  the  wilder  parts  of 
Canada,  which  perhaps  might  be  called  Iter  Canadensc, 


ANTI-SLAVERY   AND    REFORM 


PAPERS. 


I 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS* 


I  LATELY  attended  a  meeting  of  the  citizens  of  Con- 
cord, expecting,  as  one  among  many,  to  speak  on  the 
subject  of  slavery  in  Massachusetts ;  but  I  was  surprised 
and  disappointed  to  inid  that  what  liad  called  my  towns- 
men togetjier  was  the  destiny  of  Nebraska,  and  not  of 
Mnssachusetts,  and  that  what  I  had  to  say  would  be 
entirely  out  of  order.  I  had  thought  that  the  house  was 
on  lire,  and  not  the  prairie  ;  but  though  several  of  the 
citizens  of  Massachusetts  are  now  in  prison  for  attempt- 
ing to  rescue  a  slave  from  her  own  clutches,  not  one  of 
the  speakers  at  that  meeting  expressed  regret  for  it,  not 
one  even  referred  to  it.  It  was  only  the  disposition  of 
some  wild  lands  a  thousand  miles  off,  which  appeared  to 
concern  them.  The  inhabitants  of  Concord  are  not  pre- 
pared to  stand  by  one  of  their  own  bridges,  but  talk  only 
of  taking  up  a  position  on  the  highlands  beyond  the  Yel- 
lowstone River.  Our  Buttricks  and  Davises  and  IIos- 
mers  are  retreating  thither,  and  I  fear  that  they  will 
leave  no  Lexington  Common  between  them  and  the 
enemy.  There  is  not  one  slave  in  Nebraska ;  there  are 
perhaps  a  million  slaves  in  Massachusetts. 

They  who  have  been  bred  in  the  school  of  politics  fail 
now  and  always  to  face  the  'facts.     Their  measures  are 


! 


! 


I 


*  An  Address,  delivered  at  the  Anti-Slavery  Celebration  at  Fram- 
ingliam,  July  4th,  18bi. 


98 


SLAVEUY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


half  mea.surcs  and  make-sliii'ts  iucrely.  Tlicy  put  off 
the  clay  of  sellleinent  iiidt'liiiitely,  and  meanwhile  tho 
debt  accumulates.  Thouirh  the  Fu"itive  Slave  Law 
had  not  b(;en  the  subject  of  discussiou  on  that  occasion, 
it  was  at  length  faintly  resolved  by  my  townsmen,  at  an 
adjourned  meeting,  as  I  learn,  that  the  compromise  com- 
pact of  1820  having  been  re])udiated  by  one  of  the 
parties,  *'  Therefore,  ....  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  of 
I80O  must  be  repealed."  But  this  is  not  the  reason 
why  an  iniquitous  law  should  be  repealed.  The  fact 
which  the  politician  faces  is  merely,  that  there  is  less 
honor  among  thieves  than  was  supposed,  and  not  .the 
fact  that  they  are  thieves. 

As  I  had  no  opportunity  to  expre.-s  my  thoughts  at 
that  meeting,  will  you  allow  me  to  do  so  here  ? 

Again  it  happens  that  the  Boston  Court-IIouse  is  full 
of  armed  men,  holding  prisoner  and  trying  a  max,  to 
find  out  if  he  is  not  really  a  slave.  Does  any  one 
think  that  justice  or  God  awaits  Mr.  Loring's  decision.-* 
For  him  to  sit  there  deciding  still,  when  this  question 
is  already  decided  from  eternity  to  eternity,  and  the  un- 
lettered slave  himself,  and  the  multitude  around  have 
long  since  heard  and  assented  to  the  decision,  is  simply 
to  make  himself  ridiculous.  We  may  be  tempted  to 
ask  from  whom  he  received  his  commission,  and  who  he 
is  that  received  it ;  what  novel  statutes  he  obeys,  and 
what  precedents  arc  to  him  of  authority.  Such  an 
arbiter's  very  exi-tencc  is  an  impertinence.  "We  do  not 
ask  him  to  make  up  his  mind,  but  to  make  up  his 
pack. 

I  listen  to  hear  the  voice  of  a  Governor,  Commander- 
in-Chief  of  the  forces  of  Massachusetts.  I  hear  only 
tho  creaking  of  crickets  and  the  hum  of  insects  which 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


99 


now  fill  tlie  suiumer  air.  Tlie  Governor's  exploit  is  to 
review  the  troops  on  muster  days.  I  have  seen  him  on 
horseback,  with  his  hat  ofT,  listening  to  a  chaplain's 
prayer.  It  chances  that  that  is  all  I  have  ever  seen  of 
a  Governor.  I  think  that  I  could  manaiije  to  get  aloncr 
without  one.  If  he  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  prevent 
my  being  kidnapped,  pray  of  what  important  use  is  he 
likely  to  be  to  me  ?  When  freedom  is  most  endangered, 
he  dwells  in  the  deepest  obscurity.  A  distinguished 
clergyman  told  me  that  he  chose  the  profession  of  a 
clergyman,  because  it  afforded  the  most  leisure  for  lit- 
erary pursuits.  I  would  recommend  to  him  the  profes- 
sion of  a  sovcrnor. 

Three  years  ago,  also,  when  the  Simms  tragedy  was 
acted,  I  said  to  myself,  there  is  such  an  officer,  if  not 
such  a  man,  as  the  Governor  of  Massachuseits,  —  what 
has  he  been  about  tlie  last  fortnight?  Has  he  had  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  keep  on  the  fence  during  this 
moral  earthquake  ?  It  seemed  to  me  that  no  keener 
satire  could  have  been  aimed  at,  no  more  cutting  insult 
have  been  offered  to  that  man,  than  just  what  happened, 
—  the  absence  of  all  inquiry  after  him  in  that  c  'sis. 
The  worst  and  the  most  I  cliance  to  know  of  him  is, 
that  he  did  not  improve  that  opportunity  to  make  him- 
self known,  and  worthily  known.  \h  could  at  least 
have  resigned  himself  into  fame.  It  appeared  to  be 
forgotten  that  there  was  such  a  man  or  such  an  office. 
Yet  no  doubt  he  was  endeavoring  to  fill  the  gubernato- 
rial chair  all  the  while.  He  was  no  Governor  of  mine. 
He  did  not  govern  me. 

But  at  last,  in  the  present  case,  the  Governor  was 
heard  from.  After  he  and  the  United  States  govern- 
ment had  perfectly  succeeded  in  robbing  a  poor  inno- 


(  (i 


^ 


100 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


fi:'     », 


cent  black  man  of  his  liberty  for  life,  and,  as  far  as 
they  could,  of  his  Creator's  likeness  in  his  breast,  he 
made  a  speech  to  his  accomplices,  at  a  congratulatory 
supper ! 

I  have  read  a  recent  law  of  this  State,  making  it  pe- 
nal for  any  officer  of  the  "  Commonwealth  "  to  "  detain 
or  aid  in  the  ....  detention,"  anywhere  within  its 
limits,  "  of  any  person,  for  the  reason  that  he  is  claimed 
as  a  fugitive  slave."  Also,  it  was  a  matter  of  notoriety 
that  a  writ  of  replevin  to  take  the  fugitive  out  of  the 
custody  of  the  United  States  Marshal  could  not  be 
served,  for  want  of  sufficient  force  to  aid  the  officer. 

I  had  thought  that  the  Governor  was,  in  some  sense, 
the  executive  officer  of  the  State ;  that  it  was  his  busi- 
ness, as  a  Governor,  to  see  that  the  laws  of  the  State  were 
executed  ;  while,  as  a  man,  he  took  care  that  he  did  not, 
by  so  doing,  break  the  laws  of  humanity ;  but  when 
there  is  any  special  important  use  for  him,  he  is  useless, 
or  worse  than  useless,  and  permits  the  laws  of  the  State 
to  go  unexecuted.  Perhaps  I  do  not  know  what  are  the 
duties  of  a  Governor ;  but  if  to  be  a  Governor  requires 
to  subject  one's  self  to  so  much  ignominy  without  rem- 
edy, if  it  is  to  put  a  restraint  upon  my  manhood,  I 
shall  take  care  never  to  be  Governor  of  Massachu- 
setts. I  have  not  read  far  in  the  statutes  of  this  Com- 
monwealth. It  is  not  profitable  reading.  They  do  not 
always  say  what  is  true ;  and  they  do  not  always  mean 
what  they  say.  What  I  am  concerned  to  know  is,  that 
that  man's  influence  and  authority  were  on  the  side  of 
the  slaveholder,  and  not  of  the  slave,- — of  the  guilty, 
and  not  of  the  innocent,  —  of  injustice,  and  not  of  jus- 
tice. I  never  saw  him  of  whom  I  speak ;  indeed,  I  did 
not  know  that  he  was  Governor  until  this  event  occurred. 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


101 


I  heard  of  him  and  Anthony  Burns  at  the  same  time,  and 
thus,  undoubtedly,  most  will  hear  of  him.  So  far  am  I 
from  being  governed  by  him.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  was 
anything  to  his  discredit  that  I  had  not  heard  of  him, 
only  that  I  heard  what  1  did.  The  worst  I  shall  say  of 
him  is,  that  he  proved  no  better  than  the  majority  of  his 
constituents  would  be  likely  to  prove.  In  my  opinion, 
he  was  not  equal  to  the  occasion. 

The  whole  military  force  of  the  State  is  at  the  service 
of  a  Mr.  Suttle,  a  slaveholder  from  Virginia,  to  enable 
him  to  catch  a  man  whom  he  calls  his  property ;  but  not 
a  soldier  is  offered  to  save  a  citizen  of  jNIassachusetts 
from  being  kidnapped !  Is  this  what  all  these  soldiers, 
all  this  training,  has  been  for  these  seventy-nine  years 
past  ?  Have  they  been  trained  merely  to  rob  Mexico 
and  carry  back  fugitive  slaves  to  their  masters  ? 

These  very  nights,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  drum  in  our 
streets.  There  were  \n(^\\  traini)Kj  s{\\\\  and  forAvhat? 
I  could  with  an  effort  pardon  the  cockerels  of  Concord 
for  crowing  still,  for  they,  perchance,  had  not  been 
beaten  that  morning ;  but  I  could  not  excuse  this  rub- 
a-dub  of  the  "  trainers."  The  slave  was  carried  back 
by  exactly  such  as  these ;  i.  e.  by  the  soldier,  of  whom 
the  best  you  can  say  in  this  connection  is,  that  he  is  a 
fool  made  conspicuous  by  a  painted  coat. 

Three  years  ago,  also,  just  a  week  after  the  authori- 
ties of  Boston  assembled  to  carry  back  a  perfectly  in- 
nocent man,  and  one  whom  they  knew  to  be  inn(jcent, 
into  slavery,  the  inhabitants  of  Concord  caused  the  bells 
to  be  rung  and  the  cannons  to  be  fired,  to  '".debrato 
their  liberty,  —  and  the  courage  and  love  of  liberty  of 
their  ancestors  who  fought  at  the  bridg(!.  As  if  tJiosc 
three  millions  hud  fought  for  the  right  to  be  free  them- 


102 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


t  i 

I 


? 


It. 

5  h 


selves,  but  to  hold  in  slavery  three  millions  others. 
Now-a-(lays,  men  wear  a  fool's-caj),  and  call  it  a  liberty- 
cap.  I  do  not  know  but  there  are  some,  who,  if  they 
were  tied  to  a  whipping-post,  and  could  but  p;et  one 
hand  free,  would  use  it  to  ring  the  bells  and  fire  the 
cannons  to  celebrate  their  liberty.  So  some  of  my 
townsmen  took  tlie  liberty  to  ring  and  fire.  That  was 
the  extent  of  their  freedom  ;  and  when  the  sound  of 
the  bells  died  away,  their  liberty  died  away  also  ;  when 
the  powder  was  all  expended,  their  liberty  went  off  with 
the  smoke. 

The  joke  could  be  no  broader,  if  the  inmates  of  the 
prisons  were  to  sul)scribe  for  all  the  powder  to  be  used 
in  such  salutes,  and  hire  the  jailers  to  do  the  firing  and 
ringing  for  them,  while  they  enjoyed  it  through  the 
grating. 

This  is  what  I  thought  about  my  neighbors. 

Every  humane  and  intelligent  inhabitant  of  Concord, 
when  he  or  she  heard  those  bells  and  those  cannons, 
thought  not  with  i)rlde  of  the  events  of  the  19th  of 
April,  1775,  but  with  shame  of  the  events  of  the  12th 
of  April,  1851.  But  now  we  have  half  buried  that  old 
shame  under  a  new  one. 

Massachusetts  sat  waiting  Mr.  Loring's  decision,  as 
if  it  could  in  any  way  affect  her  own  criminality.  Her 
crime,  the  most  conspicuous  and  fatal  crime  of  all,  was 
permitting  him  to  be  the  umpire  in  such  a  case.  It  was 
really  the  trial  of  Massachusetts.  Every  moment  that 
she  hesitated  to  set  this  man  free,  every  moment  that 
she  now  hesitates  to  atone  for  her  crime,  she  is  con- 
victed. The  Commissioner  on  her  case  is  God ;  not 
Edward  G.  God,  but  simple  God. 

I  wish  my  countrymen  to  consider,  that  whatever  the 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


103 


human  law  may  be,  neither  an  individual  nor  a  nation 
can  ever  commit  the  least  act  of  injustice  against  the 
obscurest  individual,  without  having  to  pay  the  penalty 
for  it.  A  government  which  deliberately  enacts  injus- 
tice, and  persists  in  it,  will  at  length  even  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  world. 

Much  has  been  said  about  American  slavery,  but  I 
think  that  we  do  not  even  yet  realize  what  slavery  is. 
If  I  were  seriously  to  propose  to  Congress  to  make  man- 
kind into  sausages,  I  have  no  doubt  that  most  of  the 
members  would  smile  at  my  proiio.-ition,  and  if  any  be- 
lieved me  to  be  in  earnest,  they  would  think  that  I  pro- 
posed something  much  worse;  than  Congress  had  ever 
done.  But  if  any  of  tlunn  will  tell  me  that  to  make  a 
man  into  a  sausage  would  be  much  worse,  —  would  bo 
any  worse,  —  than  to  make  him  into  a  slave,  —  than  it 
was  to  enact  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  —  I  will  accuse 
him  of  foolishnes.-',  of  intellectual  incapacity,  of  making 
a  distinction  without  a  difference.  The  one  is  just  as 
sensible  a  proposition  as  the  other. 

I  hear  a  good  deal  said  about  trampling  this  law  un- 
der foot.  Why,  one  need  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  do 
that.  This  law  rises  not  to  the  level  of  the  head  or  the 
reason  ;  its  natural  habitat  is  in  the  dirt.  It  was  born 
and  bred,  and  has  its  life,  only  in  the  dust  and  mire,  on  a 
level  with  the  feet;  and  he  who  walks  with  freedom, 
and  loes  not  with  Hindoo  mercy  avoid  treading  on 
every  venomous  r('[)tile,  will  inevitably  tread  on  it,  and 
so  tram[)le  it  under  foot,  —  and  Webster,  its  maker, 
with  it,  like  the  dirt-bug  and  its  ball. 

Recent  events  will  be  valuable  as  a  criticism  on  the 
administration  of  justice  in  our  midst,  or,  rather,  as 
showing  what  are  the  true  resources  of  justice  in  any 


104 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


community.  It  has  come  to  this,  that  the  friends  of 
liberty,  the  friends  of  the  slave,  have  shuddered  when 
they  have  understood  that  his  fate  was  left  to  the  legal 
tribunals  of  the  country  to  be  decided.  Free  men  have 
no  faith  that  justice  will  be  awarded  in  such  a  case.  The 
judge  may  decide  this  way  or  that ;  it  is  a  kind  of  acci- 
dent, at  best.  It  is  evident  that  he  is  not  a  competent 
authority  in  so  important  a  case.  It  is  no  time,  then, 
to  be  judging  according  to  his  precedents,  but  to  estab- 
lish a  precedent  for  the  future.  I  would  much  rather 
trust  to  the  sentiment  of  the  people.  In  tlieir  vote,  you 
would  get  something  of  some  value,  at  least,  however 
small ;  but  in  the  other  case,  only  the  trammelled  judg- 
ment of  an  individual,  of  no  significance,  be  it  which 
way  it  might. 

It  is,  to  some  extent,  fatal  to  the  courts,  when  the  peo- 
ple are  compelled  to  go  behind  them.  I  do  not  wish 
to  believe  that  the  courts  were  made  for  fair  weather, 
and  for  very  civil  cases  merely ;  but  think  of  leaving  it 
to  any  court  in  the  land  to  decide  whether  more  than 
three  millions  of  people,  in  this  case,  a  sixth  part  of 
a  nation,  have  a  right  to  be  freemen  or  not  ?  But  it 
has  been  left  to  the  courts  of  justice^  so  called,  —  to  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  land,  —  and,  as  you  all  know, 
recognizing  no  authority  but  the  Constitution,  it  has  de- 
cided that  the  three  millions  are,  and  shall  continue  to 
be  slaves.  Such  judges  as  these  are  merely  the  inspec- 
tors of  a  pick-lock  and  murderer's  tools,  to  tell  him 
whether  they  are  in  working  order  or  not,  and  there 
they  think  that  their  responsibility  ends.  There  was  a 
prior  case  on  the  docket,  which  they,  as  judges  appointed 
by  God,  had  no  right  to  skip  ;  which  having  been  justly 
settled,  they  would  have  been  saved  from  this  humilia- 
tion.    It  was  the  case  of  the  murderer  himself. 


SLAVERY  IN  SIASSACUUSETTS. 


105 


■ 


The  law  will  never  make  men  free  ;  it  is  men  who 
have  got  to  make  the  law  free.  They  are  the  lovers  of 
law  and  order,  who  observe  the  law  when  the  govern- 
ment breaks  it. 

Among  human  beings,  the  judge  whose  words  seal 
the  fate  of  a  man  furthest  into  eternity  is  not  he  who 
merely  pronounces  the  verdict  of  the  law,  but  he,  who- 
ever he  may  be,  who,  from  a  love  of  truth,  and  unpreju- 
diced by  any  custom  or  enactment  of  men,  utters  a 
true  opinion  or  sentence  concerning  him.  He  it  is  that 
sentences  him.  Whoever  can  discern  truth  has  re- 
ceived his  commission  from  a  higher  source  than  the 
chiefest  justice  in  the  world,  who  can  discern  only 
law.  He  finds  himself  constituted  judge  ^A'  the  judge. 
Strange  that  it  should  be  necessary  to  state  such  simi)le 
truths  ! 

I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that,  with  reference  to 
any  public  question,  it  is  more  important  to  know  what 
the  country  thinks  of  it,  than  what  the  city  thinks.  The 
city  does  not  think  much.  On  any  moral  qu(>stion,  I 
would  rather  have  the  opinion  of  Boxboro  than  of 
Boston  and  New  York  put  together.  When  the  former 
speaks,  I  feel  as  if  somebody  had  spoken,  as  lUiumanity 
was  yet,  and  a  reasonable  being  had  asserted  its  rights, 
—  as  if  some  unprejudiced  men  jimong  the  country's 
hills  had  at  length  turned  their  attention  to  the  subject, 
and  by  a  few  sensible  words  redeemed  the  reputation 
of  the  race.  WIumi,  in  some  obscure  country  town,  the 
farmers  come  together  to  a  special  town-meeting,  to 
express  their  oj)inion  on  some  subj(>ct  which  is  vexing 
the  land,  tluit,  I  think,  is  the  true  Congress,  and  the 
most  respectable  one  that  is  ever  assembled  in  the 
United  States. 


106 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


It  is  evident  that  there  are,  in  this  Commonwealth 
at  least,  two  parties,  becoming  more  and  more  distinct, 
—  the  party  of  the  city,  and  the  party  of  the  country. 
I  know  that  the  country  is  mean  enough,  but  I  am  glad 
to  believe  that  there  is  a  slight  difference  in  her  favor. 
But  as  yet,  she  has  few,  if  any  organs,  througli  whicli 
to  express  herself.  The  editorials  which  she  reads,  like 
the  news,  come  from  the  seaboard.  Let  us,  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  country,  cultivate  self-respect.  Let  us  not 
send  to  tlie  city  for  aught  more  essential  than  our  broad- 
cloths and  groceries ;  or,  if  we  read  the  opinions  of  the 
city,  let  us  entertain  opinions  of  our  own. 

Among  measures  to  be  adopted,  I  would  suggest  to 
make  as  earnest  and  vigorous  an  assault  on  the  press  as 
lias  already  been  made,  and  with  effect,  on  the  church. 
The  church  has  much  improved  within  a  few  years ;  but 
the  press  is  almost,  without  exception,  corrupt.  I  believe 
that,  in  tliis  country,  the  press  exerts  a  greater  and  a 
more  pernicious  infkience  than  the  church  did  in  its 
worst  period.  We  are  not  a  religious  people,  but  we 
are  a  nation  of  politicians.  We  do  not  care  for  the 
Bible,  but  we  do  care  for  the  newspaper.  At  any  meet- 
ing of  politicians,  —  like  that  at  Concord  the  other  even- 
ing, for  instance,  —  how  impertinent  it  would  be  to  quote 
from  the  Bible  !  how  pertinent  to  quote  from  a  news- 
paper or  from  the  Constitution !  The  newspaper  is  a 
Bible  which  we  read  every  morning  and  every  after- 
noon, standing  and  sitting,  riding  and  walking.  It  is  a 
Bible  which  every  man  carries  in  his  pocket,  which  lies 
on  every  table  and  counter,  and  whicli  the  mail,  and 
thousands  of  missionaries,  are  continually  dispersing.  It 
is,  in  short,  the  only  book  which  America  has  printed, 
and  which  America  reads.      So  wide  is  its  inlluence. 


SLAVKRY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


107 


;> 


The  editor  is  a  preacher  whom  you  voluntarily  support. 
Your  tax  is  commonly  one  cent  daily,  and  it  costs  noth- 
ing for  pew  hire.  But  how  many  of  these  preachers 
preach  the  truth?  I  repeat  the  testimony  of  many  an 
intelligent  foreigner,  as  well  as  my  own  convictions, 
when  I  say,  that  probably  no  country  was  ever  ruled  by 
so  mean  a  class  of  tyrants  as,  with  a  few  noble  excep- 
tions, are  the  editors  of  the  periodical  press  in  this  coun- 
try. And  as  they  live  and  rule  only  by  their  servility, 
and  appealing  to  the  worse,  and  not  the  better,  nature  of 
man,  the  people  who  read  them  arc  in  the  condition  of 
the  dog  that  returns  to  his  vomit. 

The  Liberator  and  the  Commonwealth  were  the  only 
papers  in  Boston,  as  far  as  I  know,  which  made  them- 
selves heard  in  condemnation  of  the  cowardice  and 
meanness  of  the  authorities  of  that  city,  as  exhibited  in 
'51.  The  other  journals,  almost  without  exception,  by 
their  manner  of  referring  to  and  speaking  of  the  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Law,  and  the  carrying  back  of  the  slave 
Simms,  insulted  the  conimon  sense  of  the  country,  at 
least.  And,  for  the  most  part,  they  did  this,  one  would 
say,  because  they  thought  so  to  secure  the  approbation 
of  their  patrons,  not  being  aware  that  a  sounder  senti- 
ment prevailed  to  any  extent  in  the  heart  of  the  Com- 
monweallh.  I  am  told  that  some  of  them  have  improved 
of  late ;  but  they  are  still  eminently  time-serving.  Such 
is  the  character  they  have  won. 

But,  thank  fortune,  this  preacher  can  be  even  more 
easily  reached  by  the  weai)ons  of  the  reformer  than 
could  the  recreant  priest.  Tiie  free  men  of  Now  Eng- 
land have  only  to  refrain  from  purchasing  and  reading 
these  sheets,  have  oidy  to  witiihold  their  cents,  to  kill 
a  score  of  them  at  once.     One  whom  I  respect  told  me 


108 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


;^t 


♦■■ 


*! 


that  he  purchased  Mitchell's  Citizen  in  the  cars,  and 
then  threw  it  out  the  window.  But  would  not  his  con- 
tempt have  been  more  fatally  expressed  if  he  had  not 
bought  it  ? 

Are  they  Americans  ?  are  they  New-Englanders  ?  are 
they  inhabitants  of  Lexington  and  Concord  and  Fram- 
ingham,  who  read  and  support  the  Boston  Post,  Mail, 
Journal,  Advertiser,  Courier,  and  Times  ?  Are  these  the 
Flags  of  our  Union  ?  I  am  not  a  newspaper  reader,  and 
may  omit  to  name  the  worst. 

Could  slavery  suggest  a  more  complete  servility  than 
some  of  these  journals  exhibit  ?  Is  there  any  dust 
v/nich  their  conduct  does  not  lick,  and  make  fouler 
still  with  its  slime  ?  I  do  not  know  whether  the  Boston 
Herald  is  still  in  existence,  but  I  remember  to  have 
seen  it  about  the  streets  when  Simms  was  carried  off. 
Did  it  not  act  its  part  well,  —  serve  its  master  faithfully? 
How  could  it  have  gone  lower  on  its  belly  ?  How  can 
a  man  stoop  lower  than  he  is  low  ?  do  more  than  put 
his  extremities  in  the  place  of  the  head  he  has  ?  than 
make  his  head  his  lower  extremity  ?  When  I  have 
taken  up  this  paper  with  my  cuffs  turned  up,  I  have 
heard  the  gurgling  of  the  sewer  through  every  column. 
I  have  felt  that  I  was  handling  a  paper  picked  out  of 
the  public  gutters,  a  leaf  from  the  gospel  of  the  gam- 
bling-house, the  groggery,  and  the  brothel,  harmonizing 
with  the  gospel  of  the  Merchants'  Exchange. 

The  majority  of  the  men  of  the  North,  and  of  the 
South  and  East  and  West,  are  not  men  of  principle. 
If  they  vote,  they  do  not  send  men  to  Congress  on  er- 
rands of  humanity ;  but  while  their  brothers  and  sisters 
are  being  scourged  and  hung  for  loving  liberty,  while 
—  I  might  here  insert  all  that  slavery  implies  and  i.^, 


I 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


109 


I 


—  it  is  the  mismanagement  of  wood  and  iron  and  stor.o 
and  gold  which  concerns  them.  Do  wliat  you  will,  O 
Government,  with  my  wife  and  children,  my  mother 
and  brother,  my  father  and  sister,  I  will  obey  your  com- 
mands to  the  letter.  It  will  indeed  grieve  me  if  you 
hurt  them,  if  you  deliver  them  to  overseers  to  be  hunted 
by  hounds  or  to  be  whipped  to  death  ;  but,  nevertheless, 
I  will  peaceably  pursue  my  chosen  calling  on  this  fair 
earth,  until  perchance,  one  day,  when  I  have  put  on 
mourning  for  them  dead,  I  shall  have  persuaded  you  to 
relent.  Such  is  the  attitude,  such  are  the  words  of 
iMassachusetts. 

Rather  than  do  thus,  I  need  not  say  what  match  I 
would  touch,  what  system  endeavor  to  blow  up ;  but 
as  I  love  my  life,  I  would  side  with  the  light,  and  let 
the  dark  earth  roll  from  under  me,  calling  my  mother 
and  my  brother  to  follow. 

I  would  remind  my  countrymen,  that  they  are  to  be 
men  first,  and  Americans  oidy  at  a  late  and  convenient 
hour.  No  matter  how  valuable  law  may  be  to  protect 
your  property,  even  to  keep  soul  and  body  together,  if 
it  do  not  keep  you  and  humanity  together. 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  judge  in 
Massachusetts  who  is  prepared  to  resign  his  olfice,  and 
get  his  living  innocently,  whenever  it  is  required  of  him 
to  pass  sentence  under  a  law  which  is  merely  contrary 
to  the  law  of  God.  I  am  compelled  to  see  that  they  put 
themselves,  or  rather,  are  by  character,  in  this  respect, 
exactly  on  a  level  with  the  marine  who  discharges  his 
musket  in  any  direction  he  is  ordered  to.  They  are  just 
as  much  tools,  and  as  little  men.  Certainly,  they  are 
not  the  more  to  be  respected,  because  their  master  en- 
slaves their  understandings  and  consciences,  instead  of 
their  bodies. 


110 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


Tlie  judges  and  lawyers,  —  simply  as  such,  I  mean,  — 
and  all  men  of  expediency,  try  this  case  by  a  very  low 
and  incompetent  standard.  They  consider,  not  whether 
the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  is  right,  but  whether  it  is  what 
they  call  constitutional.  Is  virtue  constitutional,  or 
vice  ?  Is  equity  constitution:'.!,  or  iniquity  ?  In  im- 
portant moral  and  vital  questions,  like  this,  it  is  just  as 
impertinent  to  ask  whether  a  law  is  constitutional  or 
not,  as  to  ask  whether  it  is  profitable  or  not.  They 
persist  in  being  the  servants  of  the  worst  of  men,  and 
not  the  servants  of  humanity.  The  question  is,  not 
whether  you  or  your  grandfather,  seventy  years  ago, 
did  not  enter  into  an  agreement  to  serve  the  Devil,  and 
that  service  is  not  accordingly  now  due ;  but  whether 
you  will  not  now,  for  once  and  at  last,  serve  God,  —  in 
spite  of  your  own  past  recreancy,  or  that  of  your  an- 
cestor,—  by  obeying  that  eternal  and  only  just  Consti- 
TUTiox,  which  He,  and  not  any  Jefferson  or  Adams,  has 
written  in  your  being. 

The  amount  of  it  is,  if  the  majority  vote  the  Devil  to  be 
God,  the  minority  will  live  and  behave  accordingly, — 
and  obey  the  successful  candidate,  trusting  that,  some 
time  or  other,  by  some  Speakers  casting-vote,  perhaps, 
they  may  reinstate  God.  This  is  the  highest  principle 
I  can  get  out  or  invent  for  my  neighbors.  These  men 
act  as  if  they  believed  that  they  could  safely  slide  down 
a  hill  a  little  way  —  or  a  good  way  —  and  v/ould  surely 
come  to  a  place,  by  and  by,  where  they  could  b(^gin 
to  slide  up  again.  This  is  expediency,  or  choosing  tliat 
course  which  oifers  the  slightest  obstacles  to  the  feet,  that 
is,  a  down-hill  one.  But  there  is  no  such  thing  as  accom- 
l)hshing  a  righteous  reform  by  the  use  of  "expediency." 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  sliding  up  hill.  In  morals, 
the  only  sliders  are  backsliders. 


i 

1 


nMn*q»n«P-i 


'■m^ 


SLAVERY  IX  MASSACHUSETTS. 


Ill 


Thus  we  steadily  worship  Mammon,  both  school  and 
state  and  church,  atid  on  the  seventh  day  curse  God 
with  a  tintamar  from  one  end  of  the  Union  to  the 
other. 

Will  mankind  never  learn  that  policy  is  not  morality, 
— that  it  never  secures  any  moral  right,  but  considers 
merely  what  is  expedient?  chooses  tlic  available  candi- 
date,—  who  is  invariably  the  Devil,  —  and  what  right 
have  his  constituents  to  be  surprised,  because  the  Devil 
does  not  behave  like  an  angel  of  li^rht?  What  is  wanted 
is  men,  not  of  policy,  but  of  probity,  —  who  recognize  a 
higher  law  than  the  Constitution,  or  the  decision  of  the 
majority.  The  fate  of  tlie  country  does  not  depend  on 
how  you  vote  at  the  polls,  —  the  worst  man  is  as  strong 
as  the  best  at  that  game ;  it  does  not  depend  on  what 
kind  of  paper  you  drop  into  the  ballot-box  once  a  year, 
but  on  what  kind  of  man  you  drop  from  your  chamljer 
into  the  street  every  morning. 

What  should  concern  Massachusetts  is  not  the  Ne- 
braska Bill,  nor  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill,  but  her  own 
slaveholding  and  servility.  Let  the  State  dissolve  her 
union  with  the  slaveholder.  She  may  wriggle  and  hes- 
itate, and  ask  leave  to  read  the  Constitution  once  more ; 
but  she  can  find  no  respectable  law  or  precedent  which 
sanctions  the  continuance  of  such  a  Union  for  an  instant. 

Let  each  inhabitant  of  the  State  dissolve  his  union 
with  her,  as  long  as  she  delays  to  do  her  duty. 

The  events  of  the  past  month  teach  me  to  distrust 
Fame.  I  see  that  she  does  not  finely  discriminate,  but 
coarsely  hurrahs.  She  considers  not  the  simple  heroism 
of  an  action,  but  only  as  it  is  connected  with  its  appar- 
ent conseciuences.  She  praises  till  she  is  hoarse  the 
easy  exploit  of  the  Boston  tea  parly,  but  will  be  com- 


112 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


it. 


parativcly  silent  about  the  braver  and  more  disinterest- 
edly heroic  attack  on  the  Boston  Court-IIouse,  simply 
because  it  was  unsuccessful ! 

Covered  with  disgrace,  the  State  lias  sat  down  coolly 
to  try  for  their  lives  and  liberties  the  men  who  attempt- 
ed to  do  its  duty  for  it.  And  this  is  called  Justice/ 
They  who  have  shown  that  they  can  behave  particularly 
well  may  percluince  be  put  under  bonds  for  their  good 
behavior.  They  whom  truth  requires  at  present  to  plead 
guilty  are,  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  State,  pre-emi- 
nently innocent.  While  the  Governor,  and  the  Mayor, 
and  countless  officers  of  the  Commonwealth  are  at  large, 
the  champions  of  liberty  are  imprisoned. 

Only  they  are  guiltless,  who  commit  the  crime  of  con- 
tempt of  such  a  court.  It  behooves  every  man  to  see 
that  his  influence  is  on  the  side  of  justice,  and  let  the 
courts  make  their  own  characters.  My  sympatliies  in 
this  case  are  wholly  with  the  accused,  and  wholly 
against  their  accusers  and  judges.  Justice  is  sweet  and 
musical ;  but  injustice  is  harsh  and  discordant.  The 
judge  still  sits  grinding  at  his  organ,  but  it  yields  no 
music,  and  we  hear  only  the  sound  of  the  handle.  He 
believes  that  all  the  music  resides  in  the  handle,  and  the 
crowd  toss  him  their  coppers  the  same  as  before. 

Do  you  suppose  that  that  Massachusetts  which  is  now 
doing  these  things,  —  which  hesitates  to  crown  these  men, 
some  of  whose  lawyers,  and  even  judges,  perchance,  may 
be  driven  to  take  refuge  in  some  poor  quibble,  that  they 
may  not  wholly  outrage  their  instinctive  sense  of  justice, 
—  do  you  suppose  that  she  is  anything  but  base  and 
servile  ?  that  she  is  the  champion  of  liberty  ? 

Show  me  a  free  state,  and  a  court  truly  of  justice, 
and  I  will  fight  for  them,  if  need  be;   but  show  me 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


113 


^ 


Mas5af•^m9ett9,  and  I  refuse  her  my  allegiance,  and  ex- 
press coni<  ni{)t  for  her  courts. 

Tlie  etfect  ot  a  irood  government  is  to  make  life  more 
valuable,  —  of  a  bad  one,  to  make  it  less  valuable.  Wo 
can  afl'o,  d  that  railroad,  and  all  merely  material  stock, 
should  lose  some  of  its  value,  for  that  only  compels  us  to 
live  more  simply  and  economically;  but  suppose  that  the 
value  of  life  itself  should  be  diminished !  How  can  we 
make  a  le.-s  demand  on  man  and  nature,  how  live  more 
economically  in  respect  to  virtue  and  all  noble  qualities, 
than  we  do?  I  have  lived  for  the  last  month,  —  and  I 
think  that  every  man  in  JNIassachusetts  capable  of  the 
sentiment  of  patriotism  must  have  hnd  a  similar  expe- 
rience,—  with  the  sense  of  having  suffered  a  vast  and 
indefinite  loss.  I  did  not  know  at  first  what  ailed  me. 
At  last  it  occurred  to  me  that  what  I  had  lost  was  a 
country.  I  had  never  respected  the  government  near  to 
■which  I  lived,  but  I  had  foolishly  thought  that  I  might 
manage  to  live  here,  minding  my  private  affairs,  and 
forget  it.  For  my  part,  my  old  and  worthiest  pursuits 
have  lost  I  cannot  say  how  much  of  their  attraction,  and 
I  feel  that  my  investment  in  life  here  is  worth  many  per 
cent  less  since  Massachusetts  last  deliberately  sent  back 
an  innocent  man,  Anthony  Burns,  to  slavery.  I  dwelt 
before,  perhaps,  in  the  illusion  that  my  life  passed  some- 
where only  between  heaven  and  hell,  but  now  I  cannot 
persuade  myself  that  I  do  not  dwell  wholly  witJiin  hell. 
The  site  of  that  political  organization  called  Massachu- 
setts is  to  me  morally  covered  with  volcanic  scoriit;  and 
cinders,  such  as  Milton  describes  in  the  infernal  regions. 
If  there  is  any  hell  more  unprincipled  than  our  rulers, 
and  we,  the  ruled,  I  feel  curious  to  see  it.  Life  itself 
being  worth  less,  all  thii.gs  with  it,  which  minister  to 


114 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


m 


I 


\i 


m 

f 

m 

m 

'< ' 

m 

m 

!i, ; 

1 

ii 

it,  are  worth  less.  Suppose  you  have  a  small  library, 
with  pictures  to  adorn  the  walls,  —  a  garden  laid  out 
around,  —  and  contemplate  scientiiic  and  literary  pur- 
suits, and  discover  all  at  once  that  your  villa,  with  all 
its  contents,  is  located  in  hell,  and  that  the  justice  of  the 
peace  has  a  cloven  foot  and  a  forked  tail,  —  do  not  these 
things  suddenly  lose  their  value  in  your  eyes  ? 

I  feel  that,  to  some  extent,  the  State  has  fatally  inter- 
fered with  my  lawful  business.  It  has  noc  only  inter- 
rupted me  in  my  passage  through  Court  Street  on  errands 
of  trade,  but  it  has  interrupted  me  and  every  man  on 
liis  onward  and  upward  path,  on  which  he  had  trusted 
soon  to  leave  Court  Street  far  behind.  What  right  had 
it  to  remind  rae  of  Court  Street  ?  I  have  found  that 
hollow  which  even  I  had  relied  on  for  solid. 

I  am  surprised  to  see  men  going  about  their  business 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  I  say  to  myself,  "  Unfor- 
tunates !  they  have  not  heard  the  news."  I  am  surprised 
that  the  man  whom  I  just  met  on  horseback  should  be 
so  earnest  to  overtake  his  ncnvly  bought  cows  running 
away,  —  since  all  property  is  insecure,  and  if  they  do 
not  run  away  again,  they  may  be  taken  aw.ay  from  him 
when  he  gets  them.  Fool !  does  he  not  know  that  his 
seed-corn  is  worth  less  this  year,  —  that  all  beneficent 
harvests  fail  as  you  approach  the  empire  of  hell  ?  No 
prudent  man  will  build  a  stone  house  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, or  engage  in  any  peaceful  enterprise  which 
it  requires  a  long  time  to  accomplish.  Art  is  as  long  as 
over,  but  life  is  more  interrupted  and  less  available  for  a 
man's  proper  pursuits.  It  is  not  an  era  of  repose.  We 
have  used  up  all  our  inherited  freedom.  If  we  would 
save  our  lives,  we  must  fight  for  them. 

I  walk  toward  one  of  our  ponds  ;  but  what  signifies  the 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


115 


beauty  of  nature  when  men  are  base  ?  "We  walk  to 
lakes  to  see  our  serenity  reflected  in  them ;  when  we  are 
not  serene,  we  go  not  to  them.  Who  can  be  serene  in  a 
country  where  both  the  rulers  and  the  ruled  are  without 
principle  ?  The  remembrance  of  my  country  spoils  my 
walk.  My  thoughts  are  murder  to  the  State,  and  invol- 
untarily go  plotting  against  her. 

But  it  chanced  the  other  day  that  I  scented  a  white 
water-lily,  and  a  season  I  had  waited  for  had  arrived. 
It  is  the  emblem  of  purity.  It  bursts  up  so  pure  and 
fair  to  the  eye,  and  so  sweet  to  the  scent,  as  if  to  show 
us  what  purity  and  sweetness  reside  in,  and  can  be  ex- 
tracted from,  the  slime  and  muck  of  earth.  I  think  I 
have  plucked  the  first  one  that  has  opened  for  a  mile. 
What  confirmation  of  our  hopes  is  in  the  fragrance  of 
this  flower !  I  shall  not  so  soon  despair  of  the  world  for 
it,  notwithstanding  slavery,  and  the  cowardice  and  want 
of  principle  of  Northern  men.  It  suggests  what  kind 
of  laws  have  prevailed  longest  and  widest,  and  still  pre- 
vail, and  that  the  time  may  come  when  man's  deeds  will 
smell  as  sweet.  Such  is  the  odor  which  the  plant  emits. 
If  Nature  can  compound  this  fragrance  still  annually, 
I  shall  believe  her  still  young  and  full  of  vigor,  her  in- 
tegrity and  genius  unimpaired,  and  that  there  is  virtue 
even  in  man,  too,  who  is  fitted  to  perceive  and  love  it. 
It  reminds  me  that  Nature  has  been  partner  to  no  jNIis- 
souri  Compromise.  I  scent  no  compromise  in  the  fra- 
grance of  the  water-lily.  It  is  not  a  NympJuca  DouG- 
LAssii.  In  it,  the  sweet,  and  pure,  and  innocent  are 
wholly  sundered  from  the  obscene  and  baleful.  I  do  not 
Bcent  in  this  the  time-serving  irresolution  of  a  Massa- 
chusetts Governor,  nor  of  a  Boston  Mayor.  So  behave 
that  the  odor  of  your  actions  may  enhance  the  general 


^. 


! 


116 


SLAVERY  IN  MASSACHUSETTS. 


sweetness  of  the  atmosphere,  that  when  we  behold  or 
scent  a  flower,  we  may  not  be  reminded  how  inconsist- 
ent your  deeds  are  with  it ;  for  all  odor  is  but  one  form 
of  advertisement  of  a  moral  quality,  and  if  fair  actions 
had  not  been  performed,  the  lily  would  not  smell  sweet. 
The  foul  slime  stands  for  the  sloth  and  vice  of  man,  the 
decay  of  humanity ;  the  fragrant  flower  that  springs  from 
it,  for  the  purity  and  courage  which  are  immortal. 

Slavery  and  servility  have  produced  no  sweet-scented 
flower  annually,  to  charm  the  senses  of  men,  for  they 
have  no  real  life:  they  are  merely  a  decaying  and  a 
death,  offensive  to  all  healthy  nostrils.  We  do  not  com- 
plain that  they  live,  but  that  they  do  not  get  buried.  Let 
the  living  bury  them ;  even  they  are  good  for  manure. 


PRAYERS. 


Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold, 
Nor  gems  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor, 
As  fancy  values  them  :  but  with  true  prayers, 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven,  and  enttr  there 
Ere  sunrise  ;  prayers  from  preserved  souls. 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

SnAKESPEARR. 


Pythagoras  said  that  the  time  when  men  are  hon- 
estest,  is  when  they  present  themselves  before  the  gods. 
If  we  can  overhear  the  prayer,  we  eliall  know  the  man. 
But  prayers  arc  not  made  to  be  overheard,  or  to  be  print- 
ed, so  that  we  seldom  have  the  prayer  otherwise  than  it 
can  be  inferred  from  the  man  and  his  fortunes,  which 
are  the  answer  to  the  prayer,  and  always  accord  with  it. 
Yet  there  are  scattered  about  in  the  earth  a  few  records 
of  these  devout  hours,  which  it  would  edify  us  to  read, 
could  they  be  collected  in  a  more  catholic  spirit  than  the 
wretched  and  repulsive  volumes  which  usurp  that  name. 
Let  us  not  have  the  prayers  of  one  sect,  nor  of  the 
Christian  Church,  but  of  men  in  all  ages  and  religions, 
who  have  prayed  well.  The  prayer  of  Jesus  is,  as  it 
deserves,  become  a  form  for  the  human  race.  Many 
men  have  contributed  a  single  expression,  a  single  word 
to  the  language  of  devotion,  which  is  immediately  caught 
and  stereotyped  in  the  prayers  of  their  church  and  na- 
tion.    Among  the  remains  of  Euripides,  we  have  this 


1 


118 


PRAYERS. 


prayer :  "  Thou  God  of  all !  infuse  light  into  the  souls 
of  men,  whereby  they  may  be  enabled  to  know  what  is 
the  root  from  whence  all  their  evils  spring,  and  by  what 
means  they  may  avoid  them."  In  tlie  Phoedrus  of  Plato, 
we  find  this  petition  in  the  mouth  of  Socrates:  "O  gra- 
cious Pan !  and  ye  other  gods  who  preside  over  this 
place !  grant  that  I  may  be  beautiful  within ;  and  that 
those  external  things  which  I  have  may  be  such  as  may 
best  agree  with  a  right  internal  disposition  of  mind ; 
and  that  I  may  account  him  to  be  rich,  who  is  wise  and 
just."  Wacic  the  Caliph,  who  died  A.  D.  845,  ended 
his  life,  the  Arabian  historians  tell  us,  with  these  words : 
"  0  thou  whose  kingdom  never  passes  away,  pity  one 
whose  dignity  is  so  transient."  But  what  led  us  to  these 
remembrances  was  the  happy  accident  which,  in  this 
undevout  age,  lately  brouglit  us  acquainted  with  two  or 
three  diaries,  which  attest,  if  there  be  need  of  attestation, 
the  eternity  of  the  sentiment  and  its  equality  to  itself 
through  all  the  variety  of  expression.  The  first  is  the 
prayer  of  a  deaf  and  dumb  boy. 

"  When  my  long-attached  friend  comes  to  me,  I  have  pleas- 
ure to  convei'se  with  him,  and  I  rejoice  to  pass  my  eyes  over 
his  countenance;  but  soon  I  am  weary  of  spending  my  time 
causelessly  and  unimproved,  and  I  desire  to  leave  him  (Jnit 
not  in  rudeness),  because  I  wish  to  be  engaged  in  my  business. 
But  thou,  O  my  Father,  knowest  I  always  delight  to  commune 
with  thee  in  my  lone  and  silent  heart ;  I  am  never  full  of 
thee ;  I  am  never  weary  of  thee ;  I  am  always  desiring  thee. 
I  hunger  with  strong  hope  and  alfection  for  thee,  and  I  thii'st 
for  thy  grace  and  spirit. 

"  When  I  go  to  visit  my  friends,  I  must  put  on  my  best  gar- 
ments, and  I  nnist  think  of  my  manner  to  please  them.  I  am 
tired  to  stay  long,  because  my  mind  is  not  free,  and  they 
sometimes  talk  gossip  with  me.     But,  O  my  Father,  thou 


,-« 


PRAYERS. 


119 


i 


: 


visitest  mc  m  my  work,  aud  I  can  lift  up  my  dcsirea  to  theo, 
and  ray  heart  is  cluHM-ed  and  at  rest  with  thy  presence,  and 
I  am  always  alone  with  tliee,  and  thou  dost  not  steal  m//  tiino. 
hy  foolishness,  I  always  ask  in  my  heart,  Wiiere  can  I  find 
thee  y "  ' 

The  next  is  a  voice  out  of  a  solitude  as  strict  and 
sacred  as  that  in  which  nature  had  isolated  this  eloquent 
mute. 

"  My  Father,  when  I  cannot  he  cheerful  or  happy,  I  can 
be  true  and  obedient,  ami  I  will  not  forget  tliat  joy  has  been, 
and  mav  still  l)e.  If  there  is  no  hour  of  solitude  frrantcd  me, 
still  I  will  commune  with  thee.  If  I  may  not  search  out  and 
pierce  my  thou;^ht,  so  much  the  more  may  my  rivin<>;  praise 
thee.  At  whatever  price,  I  must  be  alone  with  thee ;  this 
must  be  the  demand  I  make.  These  duties  are  not  the  life, 
but  the  means  which  enable  us  to  show  forth  the  life.  So 
must  I  take  up  this  cross,  and  bear  it  willinjrly.  Why  should 
I  feel  reproved  when  a  busy  one  enters  the  room  ?  I  am  not 
idle,  though  I  sit  with  folded  hands ;  but  instantly  I  must 
seek  some  cover.  For  that  shame  I  rej)rove  myself  Are 
they  only  the  valuable  members  of  society  who  labor  to 
dress  and  ibed  it?  Shall  avo  never  ask  the  aim  of  all  this 
hurry  and  foam,  of  this  aimless  activity?  Let  the  purpose 
for  which  I  live  be  always  before  mc ;  let  every  thought  and 
word  go  to  confirm  and  illuminate  that  end;  namely,  that  I 
must  become  near  and  dear  to  thee  ;  that  now  I  am  bevond 
the  reach  of  all  but  thee. 

•'  How  can  we  not  be  reconciled  to  thy  will  ?  I  will  know 
the  joy  of  giving  to  my  friend  the  dearest  treasure  I  have.  I 
know  that  sorrow  comes  not  at  once  only.  We  cannot  meet 
it,  and  say,  now  it  is  overcome,  but  again,  and  yet  again  its 
flood  pours  over  us,  and  as  i'ull  as  at  (h-st. 

'•If  but  this  to'lious  battle  could  bo  fou^jjht, 
Liko  Sparta's  horoos  at  one  rocky  pas*", 
'  Olio  day  bo  spent  in  dyins,'  men  had  souglit 
The  spot  and  boon  cut  down  liko  mower's  grass." 


I' 


ri 


! ;    < ! 


120 


PRAYERS. 


The  next  is  all  in  metrical  form.  It  is  the  aspiration 
of  a  different  mind,  in  quite  other  regions  of  power  and 
duty,  yet  they  all  accord  at  last. 

"  Great  God,  I  ask  thee  for  no  meaner  pelf 
Than  that  I  may  not  disappoint  myself, 
That  in  my  action  I  may  soar  as  high 
As  I  can  now  discern  with  this  clear  eye. 

"  And  next  in  value,  which  thy  kindness  lends, 
That  I  may  greatly  disappoint  my  friends, 
Howe'er  they  think  or  hope  that  it  may  be, 
They  may  not  dream  how  thou  'st  distinguished  me. 

"  That  my  weak  hand  may  equal  my  firm  faith, 
And  my  life  practise  more  than  my  tongue  saith; 
That  my  low  conduct  may  not  show. 
Nor  my  relenting  lines. 
That  I  thy  purpose  did  not  know, 
Or  overrated  thy  designs." 

The  last  of  the  four  orisons  is  written  in  a  singularly 
calm  and  healthful  spirit,  and  contains  this  petition:  — 

"  My  Father !  I  now  eoine  to  thee  with  a  desire  to  thank 
thee  for  the  continuance  of  our  love,  the  one  for  the  other. 
I  feel  that  without  thy  love  in  me,  I  should  be  alone  here  in 
the  flesh.  I  cannot  express  my  gratitude  for  what  thou  hast 
been  and  continuest  to  be  to  me.  But  thou  knowest  what 
my  feelings  are.  When  naught  on  earth  seenieth  pleasant 
to  me,  thou  dost  make  thyself  known  to  me,  and  teach 
me  that  which  is  needful  for  me,  and  dost  cheer  my  travels 
on.  I  know  that  thou  hast  not  created  me  and  placed 
me  here  on  earth,  amidst  its  toils  and  troubles,  and  the  follies 
of  those  around  me,  and  told  me  to  be  like  thyself,  when  I 
see  so  httle  of  thee  here  to  profit  by ;  thou  hast  not  done  this, 


and  then  lofl  me  to 


myselt,  a  poor,  weak  man,  scarce 


ak 


^ly  able 


to  earn  my  bread.  No ;  thou  art  my  Father,  and  I  will  love 
thee,  for  thou  didst  first  love  me,  and  lovest  me  still.  We 
will  ever  be  parent  and  child.  Wilt  thou  give  me  strength 
to  persevere  in  this  great  work  of  rede  npti^:       Wilt  thou 


vh 


\' 


riJAYERS. 


121 


t 


i^liow  me  the  true  nienns  of  acroiiiplisliing  it I  thank 

thee  for  the  knowknlj^e  that  I  have  attained  of  thee  by  thy 
sons  v/ho  liave  been  before  me,  and  espeeially  for  him  who 
brouglit  me  so  perf  et  a  type  of  thy  goodness  and  love  to 

men 1  knov  that  thou  wilt  deal  with  mc  aa  I  deserve. 

I  i)lace  myself,  the  Jbre  in  thy  hand,  knowing  that  thou  wilt 
keep  me  from  "11  .^  so  long  as  1  eonsent  to  live  under  thy 
protecting  care. 

Let  these  few  scattered  leaves,  which  a  chance,  as  men 
say,  but  which  to  us  shall  be  holy,  brought  under  our 
eye  nearly  at  the  same  moment,  stand  as  an  exam- 
ple of  innumerable  similar  expressions  which  no  mortal 
witness  has  reported,  and  be  a  sign  of  the  times.  Might 
they  be  suggestion  to  many  a  heart  of  yet  higher  secret 
experiences  which  are  inetrable  !  IJut  we  must  not  tie 
up  the  rosary  on  which  we  have  strung  these  few  wliite 
beads,  without  adding  a  pearl  of  great  price  from  that 
book  of  prayer,  the  "  Confessions  of  Saint  Augustine." 

"  And  being  admonished  to  reflect  upon  myself,  I  entered 
into  the  very  inward  parts  of  my  soul,  by  thy  conduct;  and 
I  was  able  to  do  it,  because  noAv  thou  wert  become  my  helper. 
I  entered  and  discerned  with  the  eye  of  my  soul  (such  as  it 
was),  even  beyond  my  soul  and  mind  itself  the  Light  un- 
changeal)le.  Not  this  vulgar  light  which  all  llesh  may  look 
upon,  nor  as  It  were  a  greater  of  the  same  kind,  as  though  the 
brightness  of  this  should  bo  manifold  greater  and  with  its 
greatness  take  up  all  space.  Not  such  was  this  light,  l)ut 
other,  yea,  far  <  her  from  all  these.  Neither  was  it  so  above 
my  understanding,  as  oil  swims  above  water,  or  as  the  heaven 
is  above  the  earth.  But  it  is  above  me,  because  it  nuule  me ; 
and  I  am  under  it,  because  1  was  made  by  it.  lie  that  knows 
truth  or  verity,  knows  what  that  Light  is,  and  he  that  kii<nvs 
it,  knows  eternity,  and  it  is  known  by  charity.  O  eternal 
Verity  !  and  true  Charity  !  and  dear  Eternity  !  thou  art  my 
God,  to  thee  do  I  sigh  day  and  night.  Thee  when  1  first  knew, 
G 


122 


PRAYERS. 


thou  lifledst  nie  up  that  I  might  see  there  was  what  I  ml^ht 
see,  and  that  I  was  not  yet  such  as  to  see.  And  thou  didst 
beat  back  my  weak  siglit  upon  myself,  shooting  out  beams 
upon  me  after  a  vehement  manner,  and  I  even  trembled  be- 
tween love  and  horror,  and  I  found  myself  to  be  far  off",  and 
even  in  the  very  region  of  dissimilitude  from  thee." 


I 


CIVIL    DISOBEDIENCE.* 


M. 


I  HEARTILY  accept  the  motto,  —  "  That  government 
is  best  which  governs  least  "  ;  and  I  shoukl  like  to  see  it 
acted  up  to  more  rapidly  and  systematically.  Carried 
out,  it  finally  amounts  to  this,  which  also  I  believe,  — 
"  That  government  is  best  which  governs  not  at  all  " ; 
and  when  men  are  prepared  for  it,  that  will  be  the  kind 
of  government  which  they  will  have.  Government  is 
at  best  but  an  expedient ;  but  most  governments  are 
usually,  and  all  governments  are  sometimes,  inexpedient. 
The  objections  which  have  been  brought  against  a  stand- 
ing army,  and  they  are  many  and  weighty,  and  deserve 
to  prevail,  may  also  at  last  be  brought  against  a  standing 
government.  The  standing  army  is  only  an  arm  of  the 
standing  government.  The  government  itself,  which  is 
only  the  mode  which  the  people  have  chosen  to  execute 
their  will,  is  equally  liable  to  be  abused  and  perverted 
before  the  people  can  act  through  it.  "Witness  the  pres- 
ent INIexican  v.ar,  the  work  of  conn)aratively  a  few  indi- 
viduals using  the  standing  government  as  their  tool ;  for, 
in  the  outset,  the  people  would  not  have  consented  to 
this  measure. 

'J'his  American  government,  —  what  is  it  but  a  tra- 
dition, though  a  recent  one,  endeavoring  to  transmit  it- 
self unimpaired  to  posterity,  but  each  instant  losing  some 

*  .Esthetic  Papers,  No.  I.    Boston,  1849. 


!■ 


124 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIEXCE. 


of  its  integrity  ?  It  has  not  the  vitality  and  force  of  a 
single  living  man  :  for  a  siimle  man  can  bend  it  to  his 
will.  It  is  a  sort  of  wooden  gun  to  the  peojde  tliemselvcs. 
But  it  is  not  the  less  necessary  for  this ;  for  the  people  must 
have  some  complicated  machinery  or  other,  and  hear  its 
din,  to  satisfy  that  idea  of  government  which  they  have. 
Governments  show  thus  how  successfully  men  can  be 
imposed  on,  even  impose  on  themselves,  for  their  own 
advantage.  It  is  excellent,  we  must  all  allow.  Yet  this 
government  never  of  itself  furthered  any  enterprise,  but 
by  the  alacrity  with  which  it  got  out  of  its  way.  It  docs 
not  keep  the  country  free.  It  does  not  settle  the  West. 
It  does  not  educate.  The  character  inherent  in  the 
American  people  has  done  all  that  has  'jeen  accom- 
plished ;  and  it  would  have  done  somewhat  more,  if  the 
government  had  not  sometimes  got  in  ifs  way.  For 
government  is  an  expedient  by  which  men  would  fain 
succeed  in  letting  one  another  alone  ;  and,  as  has  been 
said,  when  it  is  most  expedient,  the  governed  are  most 
let  alone  by  it.  Trade  and  commerce,  if  they  were  not 
made  of  India-rubber,  would  never  manage  to  bounce 
over  the  obstacles  which  legislators  are  continually  put- 
ting in  their  way  ;  and,  if  one  were  to  judge  these  men 
wholly  by  the  effects  of  their  actions  and  not  partly  by 
their  intentions,  they  would  deserve  to  be  classed  and 
punished  with  those  mischievous  persons  who  put  ob- 
structions on  the  railroads. 

But,  to  speak  practically  and  as  a  citizen,  unlike  those 
who  call  themselves  no-government  men,  I  ask  for,  not 
at  once  no  government,  but  at  once  a  better  government. 
Let  every  man  make  known  what  kind  of  government 
would  command  his  respect,  and  that  will  be  one  step 
toward  obtaining  it. 


# 


>i  T 


r 


CIVIL   DISUP!  ' 


Ct. 


125 


J 


After  all,  the  practical  reason  uy,  wli-  the  p«  ^r 
is  once  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  a  majority  an  ^ 
raitted,  and  for  a  long  period  continue,  to  rule,  i^  not 
because  tliey  are  most  likely  to  be  in  the  right,  no'  '■»  - 
cause  this  seems  fairest  to  the  minority,  but  because  they 
are  physically  the  strongest.  But  a  government  in 
which  the  majority  rule  in  all  cases  cannot  be  based  on 
justice,  even  as  far  as  men  understand  it.  Can  there 
nt^t  be  a  government  in  which  majorities  do  not  virtually 
decide  right  and  wrong,  but  conscience  ?  —  in  which  ma- 
jorities decide  only  those  questions  to  which  the  rule  of 
expediency  is  ap{)licable  ?  ]\[ust  the  citizen  ever  for  a 
moment,  or  in  the  least  degree,  resign  his  conscience  to 
the  legislator  ?  Why  has  every  man  a  conscience, 
then  ?  I  think  that  we  should  be  men  first,  and  subjects 
afterward.  It  is  not  desirable  to  cultivate  a  respect  for 
the  law,  so  much  as  for  the  right.  The  only  obligation 
which  I  have  a  right  to  assume,  is  to  do  at  any  .time 
what  I  think  right.  It  is  truly  enough  said,  that  a  cor- 
poration has  no  conscience  ;  but  a  corporation  of  con- 
scientious men  is  a  corporation  tvith  a  conscience.  Law 
never  made  men  a  whit  more  just ;  and,  by  means  of 
their  respect  for  it,  even  the  well-disposed  are  daily 
made  the  agents  of  injustice.  A  common  and  natural 
result  of  an  undue  respect  for  law  is,  that  you  may  seo 
a  file  of  soldiers,  colonel,  captain,  corporal,  privates, 
powder-monkeys,  and  all,  marching  in  admirable  order 
over  hill  and  dale  to  the  wars,  against  their  wills,  ay, 
against  their  common  sense  and  consciences,  which  makes 
it  very  stee[)  marching  indeed,  and  produces  a  palpi- 
tation of  the  heart.  They  have  no  doubt  that  it  is  a 
damnable  business  in  which  they  arc  concerned ;  they 
are  all  peaceably  inclined.     Now,  what  are  they  ?     Men 


1 


126 


CIVIL   DISOBEDIKNX'E. 


ill- 


•  I.J 

B 


m 


m 


at  all  ?  or  small  movable  forts  and  magazine?,  at  the 
service  of  some  unscnipuloiis  man  in  power  ?  Visit  tho 
Navy- Yard,  and  behold  a  marine,  such  a  man  as  an 
American  government  can  make,  or  such  as  it  can  make 
a  man  with  its  black  arts,  —  a  mere  shadow  and  reminis- 
cence of  humanity,  a  man  laid  out  alive  and  standing, 
and  already,  as  one  may  say,  buried  under  arms  with 
funeral  accompaniments,  though  it  may  be, — 

"  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note. 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  Juirried ; 
Not  a  soldier  discliarf:;ed  his  f;irc\vcll  sliot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried." 

The  mass  of  men  serve  the  state  thus,  not  as  men 
mainly,  but  as  machines,  with  their  bodies.  They  are 
the  standing  army,  and  the  militia,  jailers,  constables, 
posse  comitatus,  &c.  In  most  cases  there  is  no  free  exer- 
cise whatever  of  tho  judgment  or  of  the  moral  sense  ; 
but  they  put  themselves  on  a  level  with  wood  and  earth 
and  stones  ;  and  wooden  men  can  perhaps  be  manu- 
factured that  will  serve  the  purpose  as  well.  Such  com- 
mand no  more  respect  than  men  of  straw  or  a  lump  of  dirt. 
They  have  the  same  sort  of  worth  only  as  horses  and 
dogs.  Yet  such  as  these  even  are  commonly  esteemed 
good  citizens.  Others, —  as  most  legislators,  politicians, 
lawyers,  ministers,  and  office-holders,  —  serve  the  state 
chiefly  with  their  heads  ;  and,  as  they  rarely  make  any 
moral  distinctions,  they  are  as  likely  to  serve  the  Devil, 
without  intending  it,  as  God.  A  very  few,  as  heroes, 
patriots,  martyrs,  reformers  in  the  great  sense,  and  men, 
serve  the  state  with  their  consciences  also,  and  so  neces- 
sarily resist  it  for  the  most  part ;  and  they  are  commonly 
treated  as  enemies  by  it.  A  wise  man  will  only  bo 
useful  as  a  man,  and  will  not  submit  to  be  "  clay,"  and 


^ 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


127 


< 


"  stop  .1  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away,"  but  leave  that 
office  to  his  dii3t  at  least :  — 

*'  I  am  too  high-bom  to  be  propertied, 
To  be  a  seconilary  at  control, 
Or  useful  serviiig-inau  and  iiistnimcnt 
To  any  sovereign  state  throughout  the  world." 

He  who  gives  himself  entirely  to  his  lellow-meii 
appears  to  them  useless  and  selfish  ;  but  he  who  gives 
himself  partially  to  them  is  pronounced  a  benefactor  and 
I)hilanthropist. 

How  docs  it  become  a  man  to  behave  toward  this 
American  government  to-day  ?  I  answer,  that  he  can- 
not without  disgrace  be  associated  with  it.  I  cannot  for 
an  instant  recognize  that  political  organization  as  my 
government  which  is  the  slaves  government  also. 

All  men  recognize  the  right  of  revolution ;  that  is,  the 
right  to  refuse  allegiance  to,  and  to  resist,  the  govern- 
ment, when  its  tyranny  or  its  inefficiency  are  great  and 
unendurable.  But  almost  all  say  that  such  is  not  the  case 
now.  But  such  was  the  case,  they  think,  in  the  Revo- 
lution of  '75.  If  one  were  to  tell  me  that  this  was  a  bad 
government  because  it  taxed  certain  foreign  commodities 
brought  to  its  ports,  it  is  most  probable  that  1  should  not 
make  an  ado  about  it,  for  I  can  do  without  them.  All 
machines  have  their  friction  ;  and  possibly  this  does 
enough  good  to  counterbalance  the  evil.  At  any  rate, 
it  is  a  great  evil  to  make  a  stir  about  it.  But  when 
the  friction  comes  to  have  its  machine,  and  oppression 
and  robbery  are  organized,  I  say,  let  us  not  have  such  a 
machine  any  longer.  In  other  words,  when  a  sixth  of 
the  population  of  a  nation  which  has  undertaken  to  be 
the  refuge  w  liberty  are  slaves,  and  a  whole  country  is 
unjustly  overran  and  conquered  by  a  foreign  army,  and 


,{ 


M  ■ 


hi* 


II 


i 


n 


128 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


subjected  to  military  law,  I  think  that  it  is  not  too  soon 
for  honest  men  to  rebel  and  revolutionize.     What  makes 
'  this  duty  the  more  urgent  is  the  fact,  that  the  country  so 
overrun  is  not  our  own,  but  ours  is  the  invading  array. 

Paley,  a  connuon  authority  with  many  on  moral  (ques- 
tions, in  his  chapter  on  the  "  Duty  of  Submission  to 
Civil  Government,"  resolves  all  civil  obligation  into  ex- 
pediency ;  and  he  proceeds  to  say,  "  that  so  long  as  the 
interest  of  the  whole  society  requires  it,  that  is,  so  long 
as  the  established  government  cannot  be  resisted  or 
changed  without  public  inconveniency,  it  is  the  will  of 
God  that  the  established  government  be  obeyed,  and  no 

longer This  principle  being  admitted,  the  justice 

of  every  particular  case  of  resistance  is  reduced  to  a 
computation  of  the  quantity  of  the  danger  and  grievance 
on  the  one  side,  and  of  the  probability  and  expense  of 
redressing  it  on  the  other."  Of  this,  he  says,  every  man 
shall  judge  for  himself.  But  Paley  aji^jcars  never  to 
have  contemi)lated  those  cases  to  which  the  rule  of  ex- 
pediency docs  not  apply,  in  which  a  people,  as  well  as 
an  individual,  must  do  justice,  cost  what  it  may.  If  I 
have  unjustly  wrested  a  {)lank  from  a  drowning  man, 
I  must  restore  it  to  him  though  I  drown  myself.  This, 
according  to  Paley,  would  be  inconvenient.  But  ho 
that  would  save  his  life,  in  such  a  case,  shall  lose  it. 
This  people  must  cease  to  hold  slaves,  and  to  make  war 
on  Mexico,  though  it  cost  them  their  existence  as  a  peo- 
ple. 

In  their  practice,  nations  agree  with  Paley ;  but  does 
any  one  think  that  Massachusetts  does  exactly  what  is 
right  at  the  present  crisis  ? 

"  A  (Iriib  of  stato,  a  clotii-o'-silvcr  ,slut, 
To  have  her  truhi  borne  up,  aucl  her  soul  trail  in  the  dirt." 


r 


CIVIL  DKOBEDIKNCE. 


12'J 


i 


^ 


Practically  speaking,  the  opponents  to  a  reform  in 
Massachusetts  are  not  a  hundred  tliousand  p.oliticians 
at  the  Soutli,  but  a  hundred  thousand  merchants  and 
ftirmers  here,  who  are  more  interested  in  commerce  and 
agriculture  than  they  are  in  humanity,  and  are  not  pre- 
pared to  do  justice  to  the  slave  and  to  Mexico,  cost  what 
it  may.  I  quarrel  not  with  far-olf  foes,  but  witii  tliose 
wlio,  near  at  home,  co-operate  witli,  and  do  the  l)idding 
of,  those  far  away,  and  without  wliom  the  latter  would 
be  harmless.  AVe  are  accustomed  to  say,  that  tlie  mass 
of  men  are  unprepared  ;  but  improvement  is  slow,  be- 
cause the  few  are  not  materially  wiser  or  better  than 
the  many.  It  is  not  so  important  that  many  sliould  bo 
as  good  as  you,  as  that  there  be  some  absolute  good- 
ness somewhere  ;  for  that  will  leaven  the  whole  lump. 
There  are  thousands  who  are  in  opinion  oi)posed  to 
slavery  and  to  the  war,  who  yet  in  effect  do  nothing  to 
put  an  end  to  them  ;  who,  esteeming  themselves  children 
of  Washington  and  Franklin,  sit  down  with  their  hands 
in  their  pockets,  and  say  that  they  know  not  what  to  do, 
and  do  nothing;  who  even  postpone  the  question  of  free- 
dom to  the  question  of  free-trade,  and  (luietly  read  the 
l)rices-current  along  with  the  latest  advices  from  Mexico, 
after  dinner,  and,  it  may  be,  fall  asleep  over  them  both. 
What  is  the  price-current  of  an  honest  man  and  jiatriot 
to-day  ?  They  hesitate,  and  thoy  regret,  and  sometimes 
they  petition  ;  but  they  do  nothing  in  earnest  and  with 
effect.  They  will  wait,  well  disposed,  for  others  to 
remedy  the  evil,  that  they  may  no  longer  hav(i  it  to 
regret.  At  most,  they  give  only  a  cheap  vote,  and  a 
feeble  countenance  and  God-sp(!ed,  to  the  right,  as  it 
goes  by  them.  Tiiere  are  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
patrons  of  virtue  to  one  virtuous  man.  lUit  it  is  easier 
0*  X 


130 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


> 


f 


to  deal  with  the  real  possessor  of  a  thing  than  with  the 
temporary  guardian  of  it. 

All  voting  is  a  sort  of  gaming,  like  checkers  or  back- 
gammon, with  a  slight  moral  tinge  to  it,  a  playing  with 
right  and  wrong,  with  moral  questions  ;  and  betting  nat- 
urally accompanies  it.  The  character  of  the  voters  is 
not  staked.  I  cast  my  vote,  perchance,  as  I  think  right ; 
but  I  am  not  vitally  concerned  that  that  riglit  should 
prevail.  I  am  willing  to  leave  it  to  the  majority.  Its 
obligation,  therefore,  never  exceeds  that  of  expediency. 
Even  voting  fir  the  right  is  doing  nothing  for  it.  It  is 
only  expressing  to  men  feebly  your  desire  that  it  should 
prevail.  A  wise  man  will  not  leave  the  riglit  to  the 
mercy  of  chance,  nor  wish  it  to  prevail  through  the 
power  of  the  majority.  There  is  but  little  virtue  in  the 
action  of  masses  of  men.  When  the  majority  shall  at 
length  vote  for  the  abolition  of  slavery,  it  will  be  because 
they  are  indifferent  to  slavery,  or  because  there  is  but 
little  slavery  left  to  be  abolished  by  their  vote.  They 
will  then  be  the  only  slaves.  Only  his  vote  can  liasten 
the  abolition  of  slavery  who  asserts  his  own  frcedoni  by 
his  vote. 

I  hear  of  a  convention  to  be  held  at  Baltimore,  or 
elsewhere,  for  the  selection  of  a  candidate  for  the  Presi- 
dency, made  up  chiefly  of  editors,  and  men  who  are 
politicians  by  profession;  but  I  think,  what  is  it  to  any 
independent,  intelligent,  and  respectable  man  what  deci- 
sion they  may  come  to  ?  Shall  we  not  have  the  advantage 
of  his  wisdom  and  honesty,  nevertheless  ?  Can  we  not 
count  upon  some  indei)endent  votes  ?  Are  there  not 
many  individuals  in  the  country  who  do  not  attend  con- 
ventions? l>ut  no:  I  find  that  the  respectable  man,  so 
called,  has  inniiediatcly  Jritied  from  his  position,  and 


CIVIL   DISUDKDIKNGE. 


131 


despairs  of  liis  country,  when  his  country  ha>  more  rea- 
son to  (les])air  of  him.  He  forthwith  adopts  one  of  the 
candidates  thus  selected  as  the  only  available  one,  thus 
proving  that  he  is  himself  available  for  any  purposes  of 
the  demairofTue.  His  vote  is  of  no  more  worth  than  that 
of  any  unprincipled  foreigner  or  hireling  native,  who 
may  have  been  bought.  O  for  a  man  who  is  a  mayi, 
and,  as  my  neighbor  says,  has  a  bone  in  his  back  which 
you  cannot  pass  your  hand  tlu'ough  !  Our  statistics  are 
at  fault :  the  population  has  been  returned  too  large. 
How  many  men  are  tliere  to  a  sciuare  thousand  miles  in 
this  country  ?  Hardly  one.  Does  not  America  offer 
any  inducement  for  men  to  settle  here  ?  Tlie  American 
has  dwindled  into  an  Odd  Fellow,  —  one  who  may  be 
known  by  the  development  of  his  organ  of  gregarious- 
ness,  and  a  manifest  lack  of  intellect  and  cheerful  self- 
reliance  ;  whose  fn>t  and  chief  concern,  on  coming  into 
the  world,  is  to  see  that  the  Almshouses  arc  hi  good 
]e{)!)ir ;  and,  before  yet  he  has  lawfully  donned  the  virile 
garb,  to  collect  a  fund  for  the  support  of  the  widows 
and  orphans  that  may  be  ;  who,  in  short,  ventures  to 
live  only  by  the  aid  of  the  IMutual  Insurance  company, 
which  has  promised  to  bury  him  decently. 

It  is  not  a  man's  duty,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  devote 
himself  to  the  eradication  of  any,  even  the  most  enor- 
mous wrong  ;  he  niiiy  still  properly  have  other  concerns 
to  engage  him  ;  but  it  is  his  duty,  at  least,  to  wash  his 
hands  of  it,  and,  if  he  gives  it  no  thought  longer,  not  to 
give  it  pi'actically  his  support.  If  I  devote  myself  to 
other  i)ursuits  and  contempUitions,  I  must  first  see,  at 
least,  that  I  do  not  i)Uisue  them  sitting  upon  another 
man's  shoulders.  I  nuist  get  off  him  first,  that  he  may 
pursue  his  contem[»lations  too.     See  what  gross  incoii- 


132 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


sistency  is  tolerated.  I  have  heard  some  of  my  towns- 
men say,  "  I  should  like  to  have  them  order  me  out  to 
help  put  down  an  insurrection  of  the  slaves,  or  to  march 
to  Mexico ;  —  see  if  I  would  go  " ;  and  yet  these  very 
men  have  each,  directly  by  their  allegiance,  and  so 
indirectly,  at  least,  by  their  money,  furnished  a  sub- 
stitute. The  soldier  is  applauded  who  refuses  to  serve 
in  an  unjust  war  by  those  who  do  not  refuse  to  sustain 
the  unjust  government  which  makes  the  war ;  is  applaud- 
ed by  those  whose  own  act  and  authority  he  disregards 
and  sets  at  naught ;  as  if  the  State  were  penitent  to  that 
degree  that  it  hired  one  to  scourge  it  while  it  sinned,  but 
not  to  that  dej^ree  that  it  left  off  sinning  for  a  moment. 
Thus,  under  the  name  of  Order  and  Civil  Government, 
we  are  all  made  at  last  to  pay  homage  to  and  support 
our  own  meanness.  After  the  first  blush  of  sin  comes  its 
indifference  ;  and  from  immoral  it  becomes,  as  it  were, 
?<?imoral,  and  not  quite  unnecessary  to  that  life  which 
we  have  made. 

The  broadest  and  most  prevalent  error  requires  the 
most  disinterested  virtue  to  sustain  it.  The  slight  re- 
proach  to  which  the  virtue  of  patriotism  is  commonly 
liable,  the  noble  are  most  likely  to  incur.  Those  who, 
while  they  disapprove  of  the  character  and  measures  of 
a  government,  yield  to  it  their  allegiance  and  support, 
are  undoubtedly  its  most  conscientious  supporters,  and 
so  frequently  the  most  serious  obstacles  to  rciform. 
Some  are  petitioning  the  State  to  dissolve  the  Union,  to 
disregard  the  requisitions  of  the  President.  Why  do 
they  not  dissolve  it  themselves,  —  the  union  between 
themselves  and  the  State,  —  and  refuse  to  pay  their 
quota  into  its  treasury?  Do  not  they  stand  in  the  same 
relation  to  the  State,  that  the  State  does  t<»  the  Union  ? 


>' 


CIVIL  DISOBKDIENCE. 


133 


And  have  not  the  same  reasons  prevented  the  State 
from  resisting  the  Union,  which  liave  prevented  them 
from  resisting  tlie  State  ? 

How  can  a  man  be  satisfied  to  entertain  an  opinion 
merely,  and  enjoy  it  ?  Is  there  any  enjoyment  in  it,  if 
his  opinion  is  that  he  is  aggrieved  ?  If  you  are  cheated 
out  of  a  single  dollar  hy  your  neighbor,  you  do  not  rest 
satisfied  with  knowing  that  you  are  cheated,  or  with 
saying  that  you  are  cheated,  or  even  with  petitioning 
him  to  pay  you  your  due ;  but  you  take  effectual  steps 
at  once  to  obtain  the  full  amount,  and  see  that  you 
are  never  cheated  again.  Action  from  principle,  the 
perception  and  the  performance  of  right,  changes  things 
and  relations;  it  is  essentially  revolutionary,  and  does 
not  consist  wholly  with  anything  which  was.  It  not 
only  divides  states  and  churches,  it  divides  fimilics ;  ay, 
it  divides  the  individual,  separating  the  diabolical  in  him 
from  the  divine. 

Unjust  laws  exist:  shall  we  be  content  to  obey  them, 
or  shall  we  endeavor  to  amend  them,  and  obey  ihcm 
until  we  have  succeeded,  or  shall  we  transgress  them  at 
once?  Men  generally,  under  such  a  government  as  this, 
think  that  they  ought  to  wait  until  they  have  persuaded 
the  majority  to  alter  them.  They  think  that,  if  they 
should  resist,  the  remedy  would  be  worse  than  the  evil. 
l>ut  it  is  the  fault  of  the  government  itself  that  the  rem- 
edy is  worse  than  the  evil.  It  makes  it  worse.  W',  / 
is  it  not  more  apt  to  anticipate  and  provide  for  reform? 
"Why  does  it  not  cherish  its  wise  minority  ?  Why  does 
it  cry  and  resist  before  it  is  hurt?  Why  does  it  not 
encournge  its  citi/ens  to  be  on  the  alert  to  point  out 
its  faults,  and  do  hvW'V  than  it  would  have  ihcm  ? 
AVliy  does  it  ahv;iys  crucily  Christ,  and  excommunicate 


Itr 


f 


,1  ' 


i 

r 


i    I 


H! 


i! 
I 


131 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


Copernicus  and  Lutlier,  and  pronounce  Wasliington 
and  Franklin  rebels? 

One  would  think,  that  a  deliberate  and  practical  denial 
of  its.  authority  was  the  only  offence  never  contem[)lated 
by  government ;  else,  why  has  it  not  assigned  its  definite, 
its  suitable  and  proportionate  penalty  ?  If  a  man  who 
lias  no  property  refuses  but  once  to  earn  nine  shillings 
for  the  State,  he  is  put  in  prison  for  a  period  unlimited 
by  any  law  that  I  know,  and  determined  only  by  the  dis- 
cretion of  those  who  i)laced  him  there ;  but  if  he  should 
steal  ninety  times  nine  shillings  from  the  State,  he  is 
soon  permitted  to  go  at  large  again. 

If  the  injustice  is  part  of  the  necessary  friction  of  the 
machine  of  government,  let  it  go,  let  it  go :  perchance 
it  will  wear  smooth,  —  certainly  the  machine  will  wear 
out.  If  the  injustice  has  a  spring,  or  a  pulley,  or  a  rope, 
or  a  crank,  exclusively  for  itself,  then  }>erhaps  you  may 
consider  whetlier  the  remedy  will  not  be  worse  than  the 
evil ;  but  if  it  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  requires  you  to 
be  the  agent  of  injustice  to  another,  then,  I  say,  break 
the  law.  Let  your  life  be  a  counter  friction  to  stop  the 
machine.  "Wiiat  I  have  to  do  is  to  see,  at  any  rate,  that 
I  do  not  lend  myself  to  the  wrong  which  I  condemn. 

As  for  adopting  the  ways  which  the  State  has  provided 
for  remedying  the  evil,  I  know  not  of  such  ways.  They 
take  too  much  time,  and  a  man's  life  will  be  gone.  I  have 
other  affairs  to  attend  to.  I  came  into  this  world,  not 
chiefly  to  make  this  a  good  place  to  live  in,  but  to  live  in 
it,  be  it  good  or  bad.  A  man  has  not  everything  to  do, 
but  something ;  and  because  he  cannot  do  everything^  it 
is  not  necessary  that  he  should  do  something  wrong.  It 
is  not  my  business  to  be  petitioning  the  (governor  or  the 
Legislature  any  more  than  it  is  theirs  to  pct«ition  mo  ;  and, 


CIVIL  DISODKDIENCE. 


135 


if  they  should  not  hear  my  petition,  what  shouhl  I  do 
then  ?  IJut  in  this  case  the  State  has  provided  no  way : 
its  very  Constitution  is  the  evil.  This  may  seem  to  be 
harsh  and  stubborn  and  unconciliatory ;  but  it  is  to  treat 
with  the  utmost  kindness  and  consideration  the  oidy 
spirit  that  can  appreciate  or  deserves  it.  So  is  all  change 
for  the  better,  like  birth  and  death,  which  convulse  the 
body. 

I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  those  who  call  themselves 
Abolitionists  should  at  once  efFec  ually  withdraw  their 
support,  both  in  person  and  property,  from  the  govern- 
ment of  Massachusetts,  and  not  wait  till  they  constitute 
a  majority  of  one,  before  they  suffer  the  right  to  prevail 
through  thera.  I  think  that  it  is  enough  if  they  have  God 
on  their  side,  without  waiting  for  that  other  one.  IVIore- 
over,  any  man  more  right  than  his  neighbors  constitutes 
a  majority  of  one  already. 

I  meet  this  American  government,  or  its  representa- 
tive, the  State  government,  directly,  and  face  to  face,  once 
a  year — no  more  —  in  the  person  of  its  tax-gatherer ;  this 
is  the  only  mode  in  whicl:  a  man  situated  as  I  am  neces- 
sarily meets  it ;  and  it  then  says  distinctly.  Recognize 
me ;  and  the  simplest,  the  most  effectual,  and,  in  the 
present  posture  of  affairs,  the  indispensablest  mode  of 
treating  with  it  on  this  head,  of  expressing  your  little  sat- 
isfaction with  and  love  for  it,  is  to  deny  it  then.  My 
civil  neighbor,  the  tax-gatherer,  is  the  very  man  I  have 
to  deal  with,  —  for  it  is,  after  all,  with  men  and  not  with 
parchment  that  I  quarrel,  —  and  he  has  voluntarily 
chosen  to  be  an  agent  of  the  government.  How  shall 
he  ever  know  well  what  he  is  and  does  as  an  officer  of  the 
government,  or  as  a  man,  until  he  is  obliged  to  consider 
whether  he  shall  treat  me,  his  neighbor,  for  whom  he 


—      "J^SSBP:-^ 


13G 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


:  ■ 


\  1 


:  i 


!    1 


;    I 


I,     I 


has  respect,  as  a  neighbor  and  well-disposcJ  man,  or  as 
a  maniac  and  disturber  of  the  peace,  and  see  if  he  can 
get  over  this  obstruction  to  his  ueighborhness  without  a 
ruder  and  more  impetuous  thought  or  speech  correspond- 
ing with  his  action.  I  know  this  well,  that  if  one  thou- 
sand, if  one  hundred,  if  ten  men  whom  I  could  name,  — 
if  ten  honest  men  only,  —  ay,  if  o«e  honest  man,  in  this 
State  of  Massachusetts,  ceasing  to  hold  slaves,  were  ac- 
tually to  withdraw  from  this  copartnership,  and  be  locked 
up  in  the  county  jail  therefor,  it  would  be  the  abolition 
of  slavery  in  America.  For  it  matters  not  how  small 
the  beginning  may  seem  to  be :  what  is  once  well  done  is 
done  forever.  But  we  love  better  to  talk  about  it :  that 
we  say  is  our  mission.  Reform  keeps  many  scores  of 
newspapers  in  its  service,  but  not  one  man.  If  my  es- 
teemed neighbor,  the  State's  ambassador,  who  will  devote 
his  days  to  the  settlement  of  the  question  of  human 
rights  in  the  Council  Chamber,  instead  of  being  threat- 
ened with  the  prisons  of  Carolina,  were  to  sit  down  the 
prisoner  of  Massachusetts,  that  State  which  is  so  anxious 
to  foist  the  sin  of  slavery  upon  her  sister,  —  though  at 
present  she  can  discover  only  an  act  of  inhospitality  to 
be  the  ground  of  a  quar^  2I  witli  her,  —  the  Legislature 
would  not  wholly  waive  the  subject  the  following  winter. 
Under  a  government  which  imprisons  any  unjustly, 
the  true  place  for  a  just  man  is  also  a  prison.  The 
proper  place  to-day,  the  only  place  which  Massachusetts 
lias  provided  for  her  freer  and  less  desponding  spirits, 
is  in  her  prisons,  to  be  put  out  and  locked  out  of  the 
State  by  her  own  act,  as  they  have  already  put  them- 
selves out  by  their  principles.  It  is  there  that  the 
fugitive  slave,  and  the  Mexican  prisoner  on  parole, 
and  the  Indian  come  to  plead  the  wrongs  of  his  race, 


I     i 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


137 


^ 


should  find  them ;  on  that  separate,  but  more  free  and 
honorable  ground,  where  the  State  places  those  who  are 
not  ivith  her,  but  against  her,  —  the  only  house  in  a  slave 
State  in  which  a  free  man  can  abide  with  honor.  If  any 
think  tiiat  their  influence  would  be  lost  there,  and  tiieir 
voices  no  longer  afilict  the  ear  of  the  State,  that  tliey 
would  not  be  as  an  enemy  within  its  walls,  they  do  not 
know  by  how  much  truth  is  stronger  than  error,  nor  how 
much  more  eloquently  and  efTectively  he  can  combat  in- 
justice who  has  experienced  a  little  in  his  own  person. 
Cast  your  whole  vote,  not  a  strip  of  paper  merely,  but 
your  whole  influence.  A  minority  is  powerless  while  it 
conforms  to  the  majority ;  it  is  not  even  a  minority  then ; 
but  it  is  irresistible  when  it  clogs  by  its  whole  weight. 
If  the  alternative  is  to  keep  all  just  men  in  prison,  or  give 
up  war  and  slavery,  the  State  will  not  hesitate  which  to 
choose.  If  a  thousand  men  were  not  to  pay  their  tux- 
bills  this  year,  that  would  not  be  a  violent  and  bloody 
measure,  as  it  would  be  to  pay  them,  and  enable  the 
State  to  commit  violence  and  shed  innocent  blood.  This 
is,  in  fact,  the  definition  of  a  peaceable  revolution,  if  any 
such  is  possible.  If  the  tax-gatherer,  or  any  other  pub- 
lic oflTicer,  asks  me,  as  one  has  done,  "  But  what  shall  I 
do  ?  "  my  answer  is,  "  If  you  really  wish  to  do  anything, 
resign  your  oifice."  When  the  subject  has  refused  alle- 
giance, and  the  officer  has  resigned  his  office,  then  the 
revolution  is  accomplished.  But  even  sup})ose  blood 
should  flow.  Is  there  not  a  sort  of  blood  shed  when  the 
conscience  is  wounded?  Througli  this  wound  a  man's 
real  manhood  and  immortality  flow  out,  and  he  bleeds  to 
an  everlasting  death.     I  see  this  blood  flowing  now. 

I  have  coutemi)lated  the  imprisonment  of  the  offender, 
rather  than  the  seizure  of  his  soods,  —  though  both  will 


m 


Ml 


\l 


!f   1 


I!  >!i 


U 


138 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


serve  the  same  purpose,  —  because  they  who  assert  the 
purest  right,  and  consequently  are  most  dangerous  to  a 
corrupt  State,  commonly  have  not  t^pent  much  time  in  ac- 
cumulating property.  To  such  the  State  renders  compar- 
atively small  service,  and  a  slight  tax  is  wont  to  appear 
exorbitant,  particularly  if  they  are  obliged  to  earn  it  by 
special  labor  with  the'r  hands.  If  there  were  one  who 
lived  wholly  without  the  use  of  money,  the  State  itself 
would  hesitate  to  demand  it  of  him.  But  the  rich  man, 
—  not  to  make  any  invidious  comparison,  —  is  always 
sold  to  the  ins- itutiou  which  makes  him  rich.  Absolutely 
speaking,  the  more  money,  the  less  virtue ;  for  money 
comes  between  a  man  and  his  objects,  and  obtains  them 
for  him ;  and  it  was  certainly  no  great  virtue  to  obtain 
it.  It  puts  to  rest  many  questions  whlJi  he  would  other- 
wise be  taxed  to  answer ;  while  the  only  new  question 
which  it  puts  is  the  hard  but  superfluous  one,  how  to 
spend  it.  Thus  his  moral  ground  is  taken  from  under 
his  feet.  The  opportunities  of  living  are  diminished  in 
proportion  as  what  are  called  the  "  means  "  are  increased. 
The  best  thing  a  man  can  do  for  his  culture  when  he  is 
rich  is  to  endeavor  to  carry  out  those  schemes  which  he 
entertained  when  he  was  poor.  Christ  answered  the 
Herodians  accordinsf  to  their  condition.  "  Show  me  the 
tribute-money,"  said  he;  —  and  one  took  a  penny  out  of 
his  pocket;  —  if  you  use  money  Avhich  has  the  image 
of  Ca3sar  on  it,  and  which  he  has  made  current  and  val- 
uable, that  is,  if  you  are  men  of  the  State,  and  gladly 
enjoy  xhe  advantages  of  Cassar's  government,  then  pay 
him  back  some  of  his  own  when  he  demands  it ;  "  Render 
therefore  to  Ciesar  that  which  is  Ca2sar's,  and  to  God 
those  things  which  are  God's,"  —  leaving  them  no  wiser 
than  before  as  to  which  was  which ;  for  they  did  not 
wish  to  know. 


1 

3 


CIVIL  DISOIiEDIKXCK. 


1G9 


When  I  converse  with  the  freest  of  my  neiglibors,  I 
perceive  that,  whatever  they  may  say  about  the  magni- 
tude and  seriousness  of  the  (luestion,  and  their  regard 
for  the  public  tranriuillity,  the  long  .and  tlie  short  of  the 
matter  is,  that  they  cannot  spare  the  protection  of  tlie 
existing  government,  and  tlicy  dread  tlie  conscipiences 
to  their  projierty  and  families  of  disobedience  to  it. 
For  my  own  part,  I  should  not  like  to  think  that  I  ever 
rely  on  the  protection  of  the  State.  But,  if  I  deny  the 
authority  of  tlie  State  when  it  presents  its  tax-bill,  it  will 
soon  take  and  waste  all  my  property,  and  so  harass  me 
and  my  children  witiiout  end.  This  is  hard.  This 
makes  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  live  honestly,  and  at  the 
same  time  comfortably,  in  outward  respects.  It  will  not 
be  worth  the  while  to  accumulate  pro})erty ;  that  would 
be  sure  to  go  again.  You  must  hire  or  sc^uat  somewhere, 
and  raise  but  a  small  crop,  and  eat  that  soon.  You 
must  live  within  yourself,  and  depend  ui)on  yourself 
always  tucked  up  and  ready  for  a  start,  and  not  have 
many  affairs.  A  man  may  grow  rich  in  Turkey  even, 
if  he  will  be  in  all  respects  a  good  subject  of  the  Turk- 
ish government.  Confucius  said :  "  If  a  state  is  gov- 
erned  by  the  princi[)les  of  reason,  poverty  and  misery 
are  subjects  of  shame ;  if  a  state  is  not  governed  by 
the  principles  of  reason,  riches  and  honors  are  the  sub- 
jects of  shame."  No :  until  I  want  the  protection  of 
Massachusetts  to  be  extended  to  me  in  some  distant 
Southern  port,  where  my  liberty  is  endangered,  or  until 
I  am  bent  solely  on  building  up  an  estate  at  home  by 
j)eaceful  enterprise,  I  can  afford  to  refuse  allegiance  to 
Massachusetts,  and  her  right  to  my  property  and  life. 
It  costs  me  less  in  every  sense  to  incur  the  penalty  of 
disobedience  to  the  State,  than  it  would  to  obey.  I 
should  feel  as  if  I  were  worth  less  in  that  case. 


-J 


^m 


140 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


Some  years  aj;o,  the  State  met  me  in  bclialf  of  tlie 
Cliurcl),  and  commanded  me  to  pay  a  certain  sum  toward 
the  sujjport  of  a  clercfyman  whose  preaching  my  father 
attended,  but  never  I  myself.  "Pay,"  it  laid,  "orbe 
locked  up  in  the  jaih"  I  declined  to  pay.  lUit,  unfor- 
tunately, another  man  saw  lit  to  pay  it.  I  did  not  see 
why  the  schoolmaster  should  be  taxed  to  support  the 
priest,  and  not  the  priest  the  schoolmaster ;  for  I  was 
not  the  State's  schoolma'^'.ter,  but  I  supported  myself  by 
voluntary  subscription.  I  did  not  see  why  the  lyceum 
should  not  present  its  tax-bill,  and  have  the  State  to  back 
its  demand,  as  well  as  the  Church.  IloU'ever,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  selectmen,  I  condescended  to  make  some 
such  statement  as  this  in  writing:  —  '•  Know  all  men  by 
these  presents,  that  I,  Henry  Thoreau,  do  not  wish  to 
be  regarded  as  a  member  of  any  incorporated  society 
which  I  have  not  joined."  This  I  gave  to  the  town  clerk; 
and  ho  has  it.  The  State,  having  thus  learned  that  I 
did  not  wish  to  be  regarded  as  a  member  of  that  church, 
lias  never  made  a  like  demand  on  me  since ;  though  it 
said  that  it  must  adhere  to  its  original  presumption  that 
time.  If  I  had  known  how  to  name  them,  I  should  then 
have  signed  off  in  detail  from  all  the  societies  which  I 
never  signed  on  to ;  but  I  did  not  know  where  to  find  a 
complete  list. 

I  have  paid  no  poll-tax  for  six  years.  I  was  put  into 
a  jail  once  on  this  account,  for  one  night ;  and,  as  I  stood 
considering  the  walls  of  solid  stone,  two  or  three  feet 
thick,  the  door  of  wood  and  iron,  a  foot  thick,  and  the 
iron  grating  which  strained  the  light,  I  could  not  help 
being  struck  with  the  foolishness  of  that  institution  which 
treated  me  as  if  I  were  mere  flesh  and  blood  and  bones,  to 
be  locked  up.     I  wondered  that  it  should  have  concluded 


i  '1 


CIVIL   DISOBEDIKXCE. 


141 


at  lengtli  that  this  was  the  bt'.>t  use  it  could  put  me  to, 
and  had  never  thought  to  avail  itself  of  my  services  in 
some  way.  I  saw  that,  if  there  wa-;  a  wall  of  stone  be- 
tween me  and  my  townsmen,  there  was  a  still  more  dif- 
licult  one  to  climb  or  break  through,  before  they  could 
get  to  be  as  free  as  I  was.  I  did  not  for  a  moment  feel 
condncd,  and  the  walls  seemed  a  great  waste  of  stone  and 
mortar.  I  felt  as  if  I  alone  of  all  my  townsmen  had 
paid  my  tax.  They  })lainly  did  not  know  how  to  treat 
rae,  but  behaved  like  persons  who  are  underbred.  In 
every  threat  and  in  every  compliment  there  was  a  blun- 
der ;  for  they  thc'iglit  that  my  chief  desire  was  to  stand 
the  other  side  of  that  stone  wall.  I  could  not  but  smile 
to  see  how  industrioisly  they  locked  the  door  on  my 
meditations,  which  ibllowed  them  out  again  without  let 
or  hindrance,  and  tJiey  were  really  all  that  was  danger- 
ous. As  they  could  not  reacii  me,  tliey  had  resolved  to 
punish  my  body  ;  just  as  boys,  if  they  cannot  come  at 
some  person  against  whom  they  have  a  spite,  will  abuse 
his  dog.  I  saw  that  the  State  was  half- kvitted,  that  it 
was  timid  as  a  lone  woman  with  her  silver  spoons,  and 
that  it  did  not  know  its  friends  from  its  foes,  and  I  lost 
all  my  remaining  respect  for  it,  and  pitied  it. 

Thus  the  State  never  intentionally  confronts  a  man's 
sense,  intellectual  or  moral,  but  oidy  his  body,  his  senses. 
It  is  not  armed  with  supericjr  wit  or  honesty,  but  with 
superior  physical  strength.  I  was  not  born  to  be  forced. 
I  will  breathe  after  my  own  fashion.  Let  us  see  who  ia 
the  strongest.  "What  force  has  a  multitude?  Tiiey  only 
can  force  rae  who  obey  a  higher  law  than  I.  They 
force  rae  to  become  like  themselves.  I  do  not  hear  of 
men  being  forced  to  live  this  way  or  that  by  masses  of 
men.     What  sort  of  life  were  that  to  live  ?     When  I 


rlif  /f 


I     !i 


142 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


meet  a  government  wliicli  says  to  me,  "  Your  money  or 
your  life,"  why  should  I  bo  in  haste  to  give  it  my 
money  ?  It  may  be  in  a  great  strait,  and  not  know  what 
to  do:  I  cannot  help  that.  It  must  help  itself;  do  as 
I  do.  It  is  not  worth  the  while  to  snivel  about  it.  I  am 
not  responsible  for  the  successful  working  of  the  ma- 
chinery of  society.  I  am  not  the  son  of  the  engineer. 
I  perceive  that,  when  an  acorn  and  a  chestnut  fall  side 
by  side,  the  one  does  not  remain  inert  to  make  way  for 
the  other,  but  both  obey  their  own  laws,  and  spring  and 
grow  and  flourish  as  best  they  can,  till  one,  perchance, 
overshadows  and  destroys  the  other.  If  a  plant  cannot 
live  according  to  its  nature,  it  dies ;  and  so  a  man. 

The  night  in  prison  was  novel  and  interesting  enough. 
The  prisoners  in  their  shirt-sleeves  were  enjoying  a  ehat  and 
the  evening  air  in  the  doorway,  when  I  entered.  lUit  the 
jailer  said,  "  Come,  boys,  it  is  time  to  lock  up  " ;  and  so  they 
dispersed,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  their  stejis  returning  into 
the  hollow  apartments.  My  room-mate  was  inti'odueed  to 
me  by  the  jailer,  as  "  a  first-rate  fellow  and  a  clever  man." 
Wiien  the  door  was  locked,  he  showed  me  where  to  hang  my 
hat,  and  how  he  managed  nuitters  there.  Tfie  rooms  were 
whitewashed  once  a  month ;  and  this  one,  at  least,  was  the 
whitest,  most  simply  furnished,  and  probably  the  neatest 
apartment  in  the  town.  He  naturally  wanted  to  know  where 
I  came  from,  and  what  brought  me  there ;  and,  when  I  had 
told  him,  I  asked  him  in  my  turn  how  he  came  there,  ])resum-- 
ing  him  to  be  an  honest  man,  of  conrse;  and,  as  the  world 
goes,  I  believe  he  was.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  they  accuse  me 
of  burning  a  barn  ;  l)ut  I  never  did  it."  As  near  as  I  coidd 
discover,  he  had  j)robal)ly  gone  to  be<l  in  a  barn  when 
drunV.  and  smoked  his  pipe  there;  and  so  a  barn  was  burnt. 
lie  had  the  re})utation  of  heing  a  clever  man,  had  been  thero 
some  three  months  waiting  for  his  trial  to  come  on,  and  would 
have  to  wait  as  nmch  longer ;  but  he  was  (|uite  domesticated 


'9 


I 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


143 


cy  or 

it  my 

do  as 
I  am 
e  ma- 
nr'mcer. 
lU  side 
vay  for 
ng  and 
chanc(^ 
,  cannot 

1. 

enougli- 
L'Uat  and 
liut  tlic 
d  so  thoy 
niniji;  into 
luced  to 
er  man." 
lian<i  niy 
Duis  were 
,  was  tlie 
c   neatest 
io\v  where 
lien  I  luid 
L>,  presuni- 
tlie  world 
K'cnse  nic 
as  1  eoidd 
)arn  wlieu 
■was  burnt. 
)een  there 
an<l  wonhl 
mcsticated 


and  contented,  since  he  got  his  board  for  nothing,  and  thought 
that  he  was  well  treated. 

lie  occupied  one  -window,  and  I  the  other ;  and  I  saw,  that, 
if  one  stayed  there  long,  his  principal  business  would  be  to 
look  out  the  window.  1  had  soon  read  all  the  tracts  that 
were  left  there,  and  examined  where  former  prisoners  had 
broken  out,  and  where  a  grate  had  been  sawed  oil",  and  heard 
the  history  of  the  various  occupants  of  that  room ;  for  I  found 
that  even  here  there  was  a  history  and  a  gossip  which  never 
circulated  beyond  the  walls  of  the  jail.  Probably  this  is  the 
only  house  in  the  town  Avlicrc  verses  are  composi^l,  which  are 
afterward  printed  in  a  circular  form,  but  not  ])ublished.  I 
wa.s  shown  quite  a  long  list  of  verses  which  were  composed 
by  some  young  men  who  had  been  detected  in  an  attempt  to 
escape,  who  avenged  tiiemselves  by  singing  them. 

I  pi  mped  my  tellow-])rlsoner  as  dry  as  I  couhl,  for  iear  I 
should  never  see  him  again ;  but  at  length  he  showed  mo 
which  was  my  bed,  and  left  me  to  blow  out  the  lamp. 

It  was  like  travelling  into  a  far  country,  such  as  I  bad 
never  expected  to  behold,  to  lie  there  for  one  night.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  never  had  heard  the  town-dock  strike  belbre, 
nor  the  evening  sounds  of  the  village ;  lor  we  slept  with  tho 
windows  open,  which  wei'e  inside  the  grating.  It  was  to  seo 
my  native  village  in  the  light  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  our 
Concord  was  turned  into  a  Rhine  stream,  and  visions  of 
knights  and  castles  passed  before  me.  They  were  the  voices 
of  old  burghers  that  I  heard  in  the  streets.  I  was  an  invol- 
untary spectator  and  auditor  of  whatever  was  done  and  said 
in  the  kitchen  of  the  adjacent  viUage-iim,  —  a  uliolly  new 
and  rare  experience  to  me.  It  was  a  closer  view  ot'  my  na- 
tive town.  I  was  I'airly  inside  of  it.  1  never  had  secMi  its  in- 
Btitutions  before.  This  is  one  of  its  p(M'uliar  institutions;  for 
it  is  a  shire  town.  I  began  to  comprehend  what  its  inhabi- 
tants were  about. 

In  the  morning,  our  breakfasts  wi're  put  through  the  holo 
in  the  door,  in  small  oblong-S([uare  tin  pans,  ntade  to  lit,  and 
holding  a  pint  of  chocolate,  with  brown  bread,  and  an  iron 


■V  -y^ 


in 


144 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


spoon.  "When  they  called  for  the  vessels  again,  I  was  green 
enough  to  return  what  brcMil  I  had  left;  but  my  comrade 
seized  it,  and  said  tliat  I  should  lay  that  up  for  lunch  or  din- 
ner. Soon  after  he  was  let  out  to  work  at  haying  in  a  neigh- 
boring field,  whither  he  went  every  day,  and  would  not  be 
back  till  noon  ;  so  he  bade  me  good-day,  saying  that  he 
doubted  if  he  should  see  me  again. 

AV'hcn  I  came  out  of  prison,  —  ibr  some  one  interfered,  and 
paid  that  tax,  —  I  did  not  perceive  that  great  changes  had 
taken  place  on  the  common,  such  as  he  observed  who  went 
in  a  youth,  and  emerged  a  tottering  and  gray-headed  man ; 
and  yet  a  change  had  to  my  eyes  come  over  the  scene,  — 
the  town,  and  State,  and  country,  — greater  than  any  that 
mere  time  could  eifect.  I  saw  yet  more  distinctly  the  State 
in  which  I  lived.  I  saw  to  what  extent  the  people  among 
whom  I  lived  could  be  trusted  as  good  neighbors  and  li'iends ; 
that  their  friendship  was  for  summer  weather  only  ;  that  they 
did  not  greatly  propose  to  do  right ;  that  they  were  a  dis- 
tinct race  from  me  by  their  prejudices  and  superstitions,  as 
the  Chinamen  and  Malays  are ;  that,  in  their  sacrifices  to  hu- 
manity, they  ran  no  risks,  not  even  to  their  property ;  that, 
after  all,  they  were  not  so  noble  but  they  treated  the  thief  as 
he  had  treated  them,  and  hoped,  by  a  certain  outward  obser- 
vance and  a  few  prayers,  and  by  walking  in  a  particular 
straight  though  useless  path  from  time  to  time,  to  save  their 
souls.  This  may  be  to  judge  my  neighbors  harshly;  for  I 
believe  that  many  of  them  are  not  aware  that  they  have  such 
an  institution  as  the  jail  in  their  village. 

It  was  formerly  the  custom  in  our  village,  when  a  poor 
debtor  came  out  of  jail,  for  his  acquaintances  to  salute  him, 
looking  through  their  fingers,  which  were  crossed  to  repre- 
sent the  grating  of  a  jail  window,  "  IIow  do  ye  do?"  My 
neighbors  did  not  thus  salute  me,  but  first  looked  at  mo,  and 
then  at  one  another,  as  if  1  had  returned  from  a  long  journey. 
I  was  put  into  jail  as  T  was  going  to  the  shoemaker's  to  get  a, 
shoe  which  was  mended.  When  I  was  let  out  the  next  morn- 
ing, 1  proceeded  to  linish  my  errand,  and  having  put  on  my 


•T 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


145 


green 
mrcade 
3r  din- 

nei;i;h- 
not  be 
liat  be 

cd,  and 
res  had 
10  went 
id  man ; 
[lene,  — 
iny  til  at 
le  State 
;  among 
iriends ; 
hat  they 
re  a  dis- 
itions,  as 
es  to  hu- 
ty;  that, 
thief  as 
rd  obser- 
)articular 
ave  their 
ly;  for  1 
lave  such 

n  a  poor 

ilute  him, 

to  repre- 

|o  V  "     My 

t  me,  and 
nr  journey. 
's  to  get  a 
'xt  morn- 
)utou  my 


I 


i 


mended  shoo,  joined  a  huckleberry  party,  who  were  impa- 
tient to  put  tliemselves  under  my  conduct ;  and  in  half  an 
hour,  —  for  the  hoi*sc  wa.s  soon  tackled, — was  in  the  midst 
of  a  huckleberry  field,  on  one  of  our  highest  hills,  two  miles 
off,  and  then  the  State  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
This  is  the  whole  history  of  "  jSIy  I'riijons." 

I  have  never  declined  paying  the  highway  tax,  because 
I  am  as  desirous  of  being  a  good  neighbor  as  I  am  of  being 
a  bad  .subject;  and,  as  for  supporting  schools,  I  am  doing 
my  part  to  educate  my  fellow-countrymen  now.  It  \a 
for  no  particular  item  in  the  tax-bill  that  I  refuse  to  pay 
it.  I  simply  wish  to  refuse  allegiance  to  the  State,  to 
uithdi-aw  and  stand  aloof  from  it  effectually.  I  do  not 
care  to  trace  the  course  of  my  dollar,  if  I  could,  till  it  buys 
a  man  or  a  musket  to  shoot  one  with,  —  the  dollar  is  in- 
nocent, —  but  I  am  concerned  to  trace  the  efljcts  of  my 
allegiance.  In  fact,  I  quietly  declare  war  with  the  vState, 
after  my  fashion,  though  I  will  still  make  what  use  and 
get  what  advantage  of  her  I  can,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases. 

If  others  pay  the  tax  which  is  demanded  of  me,  from  a 
sympathy  with  the  State,  they  do  but  what  they  iiave  al- 
ready done  in  their  own  case,  or  rather  they  abet  injus- 
tice to  a  greater  extent  than  the  State  requires.  If  they 
pay  the  tax  from  a  mistaken  interest  in  the  individual 
taxed,  to  save  his  property,  or  prevent  his  going  to  jail, 
it  is  because  they  have  not  considered  wisely  how  far 
they  let  their  private  feelings  interfere  with  the  public 
good. 

This,  then,  is  my  position  at  present.  But  one  cannot 
be  too  much  on  his  guard  in  such  a  case,  lest  his  action 
be  biassed  by  obstinacy,  or  an  undue  regard  for  the  opin- 
ions of  men.  Let  him  see  that  he  does  only  what  be- 
longs to  himself  and  to  the  hour. 


146 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


I  think  sometimes,  AVliy,  this  people  mean  well ; 
they  are  only  ignorant ;  they  would  do  better  if  they 
knew  how :  why  give  your  neighbors  this  pain  to  treat 
^you  as  they  are  not  inclined  to  ?  But  I  think  again,  this 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  do  as  they  do,  or  permit 
others  to  suffer  much  greater  pain  of  a  different  kind. 
Again,  I  sometimes  say  to  myself,  When  many  millions 
of  men,  without  heat,  without  ill  will,  without  personal 
feeling  of  any  kind,  demand  of  you  a  few  shillings  only, 
without  the  possibility,  such  is  their  constitution,  of  re- 
tracting or  altering  their  present  demand,  and  without 
the  possibility,  on  your  side,  of  appeal  to  any  other  mil- 
lions, why  expose  yourself  to  this  overwhelming  brute 
force  ?  You  do  not  resist  cold  and  hunger,  the  winds 
and  the  waves,  thus  obstinately ;  you  cpiietly  submit  to 
a  thousand  similar  necessities.  You  do  not  put  your 
head  into  the  fire.  But  just  in  proportion  as  I  regard 
this  as  not  wholly  a  brute  force,  but  partly  a  human 
force,  and  consider  that  I  have  relations  to  those  mil- 
lions as  to  so  many  millions  of  men,  and  not  of  mere 
brute  or  inanimate  things,  I  see  that  appeal  is  possible, 
first  and  instantaneously,  from  them  to  the  jNIaker  of 
them,  and,  secondly,  from  them  to  themselves.  But,  if  I 
put  my  head  deliberately  into  the  fire,  there  is  no  api)eal 
to  fire  or  to  the  Maker  of  fire,  and  I  have  only  myself 
to  blame.  If  I  could  convince  myself  that  I  have  any 
right  to  be  satisfied  with  men  as  they  are,  and  to  treat 
them  accordingly,  and  not  according,  in  some  res[)ects,  to 
my  requisitions  and  expectations  of  what  they  and  I 
ought  to  be,  then,  like  a  good  Mussuhnan  and  fatalist,  I 
should  endeavor  to  be  satisfied  with  things  as  they  are, 
and  say  it  is  the  will  of  God.  And,  above  all,  there  is 
this  difference  between  resisting  this  and  a  purely  bruto 


I 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENOE. 


147 


well ; 

if  they 

:o  treat 

in,  tliid 
permit 

it  kind. 

millions 

personal 

gs  only, 

n,  of  re- 
w'ithout 

tlier  mil- 

[\<r  brute 

ho  winds 

;ubrait  to 

put  your 
I  regard 

a  human 

hose  mil- 

t  of  mere 
possible, 

iSIaker  of 
But,  if  I 
no  appeal 
y  myself 
have  any 
d  to  treat 
•cspects,  to 
iicy  and  I 
1  fatalist,  I 
r  tliey  are, 
11,  there  is 
Lirely  brute 


or  natural  force,  that  I  can  resist  tliis  with  some  effect ; 

but  I  cannot  expect,  like  Orpheus,  to  change  the  nature 

of  the  rocks  and  trees  an<l  beasts. 

I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  any  man  or  nation.     I 

do  not  wish  to  split  hairs,  to  make  fine  distinctions,  or 

set  myself  up  as    better  than  my  neighbors.      1  seek 

rather,  I  may  say,  even  an  excuse  for  conforming  to  the 

laws  of  the  land.    I  am  but  too  ready  to  conform  to  th(un. 

Indeed,  I  have  reason  to  suspect  myself  on  this  head ; 

and  each  year,  as  the  tax-gatherer  comes  round,  I  (iad 

myself  disposed  to  review  the  acts  and  position  of  the 

general    and    State  governments,  and  the  spirit  of  the 

people,  to  discover  a  pretext  for  conformity. 

"  We  must  aflect  our  country  as  our  parents; 
And  if  at  any  time  we  alienate 
Our  love  or  industry  from  doing  it  honor, 
We  must  respect  cirocts  and  teach  the  soul 
Matter  of  conscience  and  religion, 
And  not  desire  of  rule  or  benefit." 

I  believe  that  the  State  will  soon  be  able  to  take  all  my 
work  of  this  sort  out  of  my  hands,  and  then  I  shall  be  no 
better  a  patriot  than  my  fellow-countrymen.  Seen  from 
a  lower  point  of  view,  the  Constitution,  with  all  its  faults, 
is  very  good ;  the  law  and  the  courts  are  very  respecta- 
ble ;  even  this  State  and  this  American  government  are, 
in  many  respects,  very  admirable  and  rare  things,  to  be 
thankful  for,  such  as  a  great  many  have  described  them  ; 
but  seen  from  a  point  of  view  a  little  higher,  they  are 
what  I  have  described  them ;  seen  from  a  higher  still, 
and  the  highest,  who  shall  s.ay  what  they  are,  or  that 
they  are  worth  looking  at  or  thinking  of  at  all  ? 

However,  the  government  does  not  concern  me  much, 
and  I  shall  bestow  the  fewest  possible  thoughts  on  it.  It 
is  not  many  moments  that  I  live  under  a  government, 


148 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


! 


even  in  this  world.  If  a  man  is  thought-free,  fancy- 
free,  imagination-fiee,  that  which  is  not  never  for  a  long 
time  appearing  to  be  to  him,  unwise  rulers  or  reformers 
cannot  fatally  interrupt  him. 

I  know  that  most  men  think  differently  from  myself; 
but  those  whose  lives  are  by  profession  devoted  to  the 
study  of  these  or  kindred  subjects,  content  me  as  little  as 
any.  Statesmen  and  legislators,  standing  so  completely 
within  the  institution,  never  distinctly  and  nakedly  be- 
hold it.  They  speak  of  moving  society,  but  have  no 
resting-place  without  it.  They  may  be  men  of  a  certain 
experience  and  discrimination,  and  have  no  doubt  in- 
vented ingenious  and  even  iiseful  systems,  for  which  we 
sincerely  thank  them  ;  but  all  their  wit  and  usefulness 
lie  within  certain  not  very  wide  limits.  Tliey  are  wont 
to  forget  that  the  world  is  not  governed  by  policy  and 
expediency.  Webster  never  goes  behind  government, 
and  so  cannot  speak  with  authority  about  it.  His  words 
are  wisdom  to  those  legislators  who  contemplate  no 
essential  reform  in  the  existing  government ;  but  for 
thinkers,  and  those  who  legislate  for  all  time,  he  never 
once  glances  at  the  subject.  I  know  of  those  whoso 
serene  and  wise  speculations  on  this  theme  would  soon 
reveal  the  limits  of  his  mind's  range  aid  hos[)itality. 
Yet,  compared  with  the  cheap  professions  of  most  re- 
formers, and  the  still  cheaper  wisdom  and  eloquence  of 
politicians  in  general,  his  are  almost  the  only  sensible 
and  valuable  words,  and  we  thank  Heaven  for  him. 
Comparatively,  he  is  always  strong,  original,  and,  above 
all,  practical.  Still  his  quality  is  not  wisdom,  but  pru- 
dence. The  lawyer's  truth  is  not  Truth,  but  consistency, 
or  a  consistent  expediency.  Truth  is  always  in  harmony 
with  herself,  and  is  not  concerned  chiefly  to  reveal  the 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


149 


justice  that  may  consist  with  wrong-doing.  He  well 
deserves  to  be  called,  as  he  has  been  called,  the  De- 
fender of  the  Constitution.  There  are  really  no  blows 
to  be  given  by  him  but  defensive  ones.  He  is  not  a 
leader,  but  a  follower.  His  leaders  are  the  men  of  '87. 
"  I  have  never  made  an  eflurt,"  he  says,  "  and  never 
propose  to  make  an  effort ;  I  have  never  countenanced 
an  effort,  and  never  mean  to  countenance  an  effort,  to 
disturb  the  arrangement  as  originally  ma(h;,  by  which 
IS  States  came  ipto  the  Union."     Still  thinkingr 


t,  -i.  \ 


01  the  biujction  which  the  l^onstitution  gives  to  .-lavery, 
he  says,  "  Because  it  was  a  part  of  the  original  com- 
pact, —  let  it  stand."  Notwithstanding  his  special  acute- 
uess  and  .ability,  he  is  unable  to  take  a  fact  out  of  its 
merely  i)olitical  relations,  and  behold  it  as  it  lies  abso- 
lutely to  be  disposed  of  by  the  intellect,  —  what,  for 
instance,  it  behooves  a  man  to  do  here  in  America  to- 
day with  regard  to  slavery,  but  ventures,  or  is  driven, 
to  make  some  such  desperate  answer  as  the  following, 
while  professing  to  speak  absolutely,  and  as  a  private 
man,  —  from  which  what  new  and  singular  code  of 
social  duties  might  be  inferred?  '*The  manner,"  says 
he,  "  in  which  the  governments  of  those  States  where 
slavery  exists  are  to  regulate  it,  is  for  their  own  con- 
sideration, under  their  resjjonsibility  to  their  constituents, 
to  the  general  laws  of  pro[)riety,  humanity,  and  justice, 
and  to  God.  Associations  formed  elsewhere,  sj)riuging 
from  a  feeling  of  humanity,  or  any  other  caus(!,  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  They  have  never  re- 
ceived any  encouragement  from  me,  and  they  never 
will."  * 

They   who  know  of  no  purer  sources  of  truth,  who 

*  These  extracts  have  been  inserted  since  the  Lecture  wus  read. 


150 


CIVIL  DISOBEDIENCE. 


i 


i 

^1 


I 
!  , 


1 


have  traced  up  its  stream  no  liigher,  stand,  and  wisely 
stand,  by  the  Bible  and  the  Constitution,  and  drink  at  it 
there  with  reverence  md  humility  ;  but  they  who  behold 
where  it  comes  trickling  into  this  lake  or  that  pool,  gird 
up  their  loins  once  more,  and  continue  their  pilgrimage 
toward  its  fountain-head. 

No  man  with  a  ge.  "js  for  legislation  has  appeared  in 
America.  They  are  rare  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
There  are  orators,  politicians,  and  eloquent  men,  by  the 
thousand ;  but  the  speaker  has  not  yet  opened  his  mouth 
to  speak,  who  is  capable  of  settling  the  much-vexed 
questions  of  the  day.  We  love  eloquence  for  its  own 
sake,  and  not  for  any  truth  which  it  may  utter,  or  any 
heroism  it  may  inspire.  Our  legislators  have  not  yet 
leftrned  the  comparative  value  of  free-trade  and  of  free- 
dom, vi  union,  and  of  rectitude,  to  a  nation.  They  have 
no  genius  or  talent  for  comi)aratively  humble  questions 
of  taxation  and  linance,  commerce  and  manufactures  and 
agriculture.  If  ve  were  left  solely  to  the  wordy  wit  of 
legislators  in  C^  ,M'ess  for  our  guidance,  uncorrected  by 
the  seasonable  experience  and  the  effectual  complaints 
of  the  people,  America  would  not  long  retain  her  .  ank 
among  the  nations.  For  eighteen  hundred  years,  though 
perchance  I  have  no  right  to  say  it,  the  New  Testament 
has  been  written  ;  yet  where  is  the  legislator  who  has 
"wisdom  and  practical  talent  enough  to  avail  himself  of 
the  liirht  which  it  sheds  on  the  science  of  lesrishttlon  ? 

The  authority  of  government,  even  such  as  I  am  will- 
ing to  submit  to,  —  for  I  will  cheerfully  obey  those  who 
know  and  can  do  better  than  I,  and  in  many  things  even 
those  who  neither  know  nor  can  do  so  well,  —  is  still  an 
impure  one :  to  be  strictly  just,  it  must  have  the  sanction 
and  consent  of  the  governed.     It  can  have  no  pure  right 


CIVIL   DISOBEDIENCE. 


151 


over  my  person  and  property  but  wliat  I  concede  to  it. 
The  progress  from  an  absolute  to  a  limited  monarchy, 
from  a  limited  monarchy  to  a  democracy,-  is  a  progress 
toward  a  true  respect  for  the  individual.  Even  tlio 
Chinese  pliilosopher  was  wise  enough  to  regard  the  indi- 
\idual  as  the  basis  of  the  empire.  Is  a  democracy,  such 
as  we  know  it,  the  last  improvement  possible  in  govern- 
ment ?  Is  it  not  possible  to  take  a  step  further  towards 
recognizing  mid  orgnnizing  the  rights  of  man  ?  There 
will  never  be  a  really  free  and  enlightened  State,  until 
the  State  comes  to  recosnize  the  individual  as  a  hiiiher 
and  independent  power,  from  which  all  its  own  power 
and  authority  are  derived,  and  treats  him  accordingly.  I 
please  myself  with  imagining  a  State  at  last  which  can 
aiford  to  be  just  to  all  men,  and  to  treat  tiie  individual 
witii  respect  as  a  neighbor  ;  which  even  would  not  think 
it  inconsistent  with  its  own  repose,  if  a  few  were  to  live 
aloof  from  it,  not  meddling  with  it,  nor  embraced  by  it, 
who  fulfilled  all  the  duties  of  neighbors  and  fellow-men. 
A  State  which  bore  this  kind  of  fruit,  and  suffered  it  to 
drop  off  as  fast  as  it  ripened,  would  prepare  the  way  for 
a  still  more  perfect  and  glorious  State,  which  also  I  have 
imagined,  but  not  yet  anywhere  seen. 


i 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN.* 


4 


1 1 


! 


I  TRUST  that  you  will  pardon  me  for  being  here.  I 
do  not  wish  to  force  my  thoughts  upon  you,  but  I  feel 
forced  myself.  Little  as  I  know  of  Captain  Brown, 
I  would  fain  do  my  part  to  correct  the  tone  and  the 
statements  of  the  newspapers,  and  of  my  countrymen  gen- 
erally, respecting  his  character  and  actions.  It  costs  us 
nothing  to  be  just.  We  can  at  least  express  our  sympa- 
thy with,  and  admiration  of,  him  and  his  companions,  and 
that  is  what  I  now  propose  to  do. 

First,  as  to  his  history.  I  will  endeavor  to  omit,  as 
much  as  possible,  what  you  have  already  read.  I  need 
not  describe  his  person  to  you,  for  probably  most  of  you 
have  seen  and  will  not  soon  forget  him  I  am  told  that 
his  grandfather,  John  Brown,  was  an  officer  in  the  Rev- 
olution ;  that  he  himself  was  born  in  Connecticut  about 
the  beginning  of  this  century,  but  early  went  with  his 
father  to  Ohio.  I  heard  him  say  that  his  father  was  a 
contractor  who  furnished  beef  to  the  army  there,  in  the 
war  of  1812  ;  that  he  accompanied  him  to  the  camp,  and 
assisted  him  in  that  employment,  seeing  a  good  deal  of  mil- 
itary life,  —  more,  perhaps,  than  if  he  had  been  a  soldier ; 
for  he  was  often  present  at  the  councils  of  the  officers.  Es- 
pecially, he  learned  by  experience  how  armies  are  supplied 

*  Read  to  the  citizens  of  Concord,  Mass.,  Sunday  Evening:,  Octo- 
ber SO,  1859. 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  DROWN. 


153 


and  maintained  in  the  field,  —  a  work  which,  he  obscrvod, 
rccjuires  at  least  as  much  experience  and  skill  as  to  lead 
them  in  battle.  He  said  that  few  persons  had  any 
conception  of  the  cost,  even  the  pecuniary  cost,  of  firing 
a  single  bullet  in  war.  lie  saw  enough,  at  any  rate,  to 
disgust  him  with  a  military  life ;  indeed,  to  excite  in  him 
a  great  abhorrence  of  it ;  so  much  so,  that  though  he 
was  tempted  by  the  offer  of  some  petty  olfice  in  the  army, 
when  he  was  about  eighteen,  he  not  only  declined  that, 
but  he  also  refused  to  trnin  when  warned,  and  was  lined 
for  it.  He  then  resolved  tluit  he  would  never  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  any  war,  unless  it  were  a  war  for  liberty. 

When  the  troubles  in  Kansas  began,  he  sent  several 
of  his  sons  thither  to  strengthen  the  jmrty  of  the  Free 
State  men,  fitting  them  out  with  such  weapons  as  he  had  ; 
telling  them  that  if  the  troubles  should  inci'ease,  and  there 
should  be  need  of  him,  he  would  follow,  to  assist  them 
with  his  hand  and  counsel.  This,  as  you  all  know,  ho 
soon  after  did ;  and  it  was  through  his  agency,  far  more 
than  any  other's,  that  Kansas  was  mnde  free. 

For  a  part  of  his  life  he  was  a  surveyor,  and  at  one  time 
he  was  engaged  in  wool-growing,  and  he  went  to  Europe 
as  an  agent  about  that  business.  There,  as  everywhere, 
he  had  his  eyes  al)Out  him,  and  made  many  original  ob- 
servrtions.  He  said,  for  instance,  that  he  saw  why  the 
soil  of  England  was  so  rich,  and  that  of  (Jermany  (I 
think  it  was)  so  poor,  and  he  thought  of  writing  to  some 
of  the  crowned  heads  about  it.  It  was  because  in  England 
the  peasantry  live  on  the  soil  which  they  cultivate,  but 
in  Germany  they  are  gathered  into  villages,  at  night. 
It  is  a  pity  that  he  did  not  make  a  book  of  his  observa- 
tions. 

I  should  say  that  he  was  an  old-fashioned  man  in  his 
7* 


151 


A  TLKA   FOU   CAl'TAIN    lOHN   HUOWN. 


respect  for  the  Constitution,  and  liis  faith  in  the  })enna- 
nencc  of  this  Union.  Shivery  he  deemed  to  be  wholly 
opposed  to  these,  and  he  \va'»  its  dotcrmincd  foe. 

lie  was  by  descent  and  birth  a  New  England  farmer, 
a  man  of  groat  common-sense,  deliberate  and  practical 
as  that  class  is,  and  tenfold  more  so.  lie  was  like  the 
best  of  those  who  stood  at  Concord  Bridge  once,  on 
Lexington  Common,  and  on  Bunker  Ilill,  only  he  was 
firmer  and  higher  principled  than  any  that  I  have 
chanced  to  hear  of  as  there.  It  was  no  abolition  lecturer 
that  converted  him.  Ethan  Allen  and  Stiirk,  with 
whom  he  may  in  some  respects  be  compared,  were  ran- 
gers in  a  lower  and  less  important  field.  They  could 
bravely  face  their  country's  foes,  but  he  had  the  courage 
to  face  his  country  herself,  when  she  was  in  the  wrong. 
A  Western  writer  says,  to  account  for  his  escape  from 
so  many  perils,  that  he  was  concealed  under  a  "rural 
exterior";  as  if,  in  that  prairie  land,  a  iiero  should,  by 
good  riglits,  wear  a  citizen's  dress  only. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  college  called  Harvard,  good  old 
Alma  INIater  as  she  is.  lie  was  not  fed  on  the  pap  that 
is  there  furnished.  As  he  phrased  it,  "1  know  no  more 
of  grammar  than  one  of  your  calves."  But  he  went  to 
the  groat  university  of  the  West,  where  he  sedulously 
pursued  the  study  of  Liberty,  for  which  he  had  early 
betrayed  a  fondness,  and  having  taken  many  degrees,  he 
finally  commenced  the  public  practice  of  Humanity  in 
Kansas,  as  you  all  know.  Such  were  his  humanities  and 
not  any  study  of  grammar.  He  would  have  left  a  Greek 
accent  slanting  the  wrong  way,  and  righted  up  a  falling 
man. 

He  was  one  of  that  class  of  whom  we  hear  a  great 
deal,  but,  for  the   most  part,  see  nothhig  at  all,  —  the 


^'i 


\ 


A   PLKA   FOR   rAl'TAIN  JOHN   HUOWN. 


loo 


i 


Puritans.  It  would  be  in  vain  to  kill  him.  He  died 
lately  in  the  time  of  Cromwell,  but  he  reappeared  here. 
Why  should  he  not  ?  Some  of  the  Puritan  stock  are 
said  to  have  come  over  and  settled  in  New  En^j^land. 
Thoy  were  a  class  that  did  something  else  than  celebrate 
their  forefathers'  day,  and  eat  parched  corn  in  remem- 
brance of  that  time.  Thoy  wore  neither  Democrats  nor 
Republicans,  but  men  of  simple  habits,  straightforward, 
prayerful ;  not  thinking  much  of  rulers  who  did  not  fear 
God,  not  making  many  compromises,  nor  seeking  after 
available  candidates. 

"  In  his  camp,"  as  one  Ir  s  recently  whiten,  and  as  I 
have  myself  heard  him  state,  "  he  permitted  no  profan- 
ity ;  no  man  of  loose  morals  was  sufleied  to  remain  there, 
unless,  indeed,  as  a  prisoner  of  war.  '  I  w  'uld  rather,  * 
said  he,  'have  the  small-pox,  yellow-fev«  ;,  and  cholera, 
all  together  in  my  camj),  than  a  r,:^'i  without  pr'  .'^iple. 
....  It  is  a  mistake,  sir,  that  (  ur  .  eople  make,  when 
they  think  that  bullies  are  the  best  fighters,  or  that  they 
are  the  fit  men  to  oppose  these  Southerners.  Give  me 
men  of  good  prineii)les,  —  God-fearing  men,  —  men  who 
respect  themselves,  and  with  a  du?/jn  of  them  I  will  op- 
pose any  hundred  such  men  as  these  Buford  rufiians.' " 
He  said  that  if  one  ofTerod  himself  to  be  a  soldier  under 
him,  who  was  forward  to  tell  what  he  could  or  would  do, 
if  he  could  only  get  °'^sihi  of  the  enemy,  he  had  but 
little  confidence  in  him. 

He  was  never  able  to  find  more  than  a  score  or  so  of 
recruits  whom  he  Vv  aid  accept,  and  only  about  a  dozen, 
among  them  'li.  sons,  in  whom  he  had  perfect  faith. 
"When  he  was  here,  some  years  ago,  he  showed  to  a  few  a 
little  manuscript  book,  —  his  "orderly  book"  I  thhik  he 
called  it,  —  containing  the  "••••.:  o  of  his  company  hi  Kan- 


y 


156 


A  TLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


''!  I 


sas,  and  the  rules  by  wliicli  they  bound  themselves ;  and 
he  stated  tliat  several  of  tlieui  had  ah-eady  scaled  the 
contract  with  their  blood.  When  some  one  remarked  that, 
with  the  addition  of  a  chaplain,  it  would  liavc  been  a  per- 
fect Crorawellian  troop,  he  observed  that  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  add  a  chaplain  to  the  list,  if  he  could  have 
found  one  who  could  fill  that  office  worthily.  It  is 
easy  enough  to  find  one  for  the  United  States  army. 
I  believe  that  he  had  prayers  in  his  camp  morning  and 
evening,  nevertlieless. 

lie  was  a  man  of  Spartan  habits,  and  at  sixty  was 
scrupulous  about  his  diet  at  your  table,  excusing  himself 
by  saying  that  he  must  eat  sparingly  and  fare  hard,  as 
became  a  soldier,  or  one  who  was  fitting  himself  for 
diflicult  enterprises,  a  life  of  exposure. 

A  man  of  rare  common-sense  and  directness  of  speech, 
as  of  action ;  a  transcendentalist  above  all,  a  man  of 
ideas  and  principles,  —  that  was  what  distinguished  him. 
Not  yielding  to  a  whim  or  transient  impulse,  but  carry- 
ing out  the  purpose  of  a  life.  I  noticed  that  lie  did  not 
overstate  anything,  but  spoke  within  l)ounds.  I  re- 
member, particularly,  how,  in  his  si)ee('li  here,  he  re- 
ferred to  what  his  fiimily  had  suflered  in  Kansas,  with- 
out ever  giving  the  least  vent  to  his  pent-up  tire.  It 
was  a  volcano  with  an  ordinary  chimney-fhie.  Also 
referring  to  the  deeds  of  certain  IJorder  Rullians,  he 
said,  rai)idly  j)aring  away  his  !-[)eech,  like  an  experienced 
soldier,  keeping  a  reserve  of  force  and  meaning,  "  They 
had  a  perfect  right  to  be  hung."  lie  was  not  in  the 
least  a  rhetorician,  was  not  talking  to  Buncombe  or  his 
constituents  anywhere,  had  no  need  to  invent  anything 
bat  to  tell  the  simple  trutii,  anl  conuinmlcate  his  own 
resolution;  therefore  he  ap[)eiu'cd  ini.'oni])arably  strong'. 


A  PLEA   FOR  CAriAIN  JOHN  BIIOWN. 


1.37 


and  eloquence  in  Congress  and  elsewlier"  seemed  to  mo 
at  a  discount.  It  was  like  the  speeches  of  Cromwell 
compared  with  those  of  an  ordinary  king. 

As  for  his  tact  and  j)rudence,  I  will  merely  say,  that 
at  a  time  when  scarcely  a  man  from  the  Free  States 
was  able  to  reach  Kansas  by  any  direct  route,  at  least 
without  iiavin<i:  his  arms  taken  from  him,  he,  carrving 
what  imperfect  guns  and  other  weapons  he  could  collect, 
openly  and  slowly  drove  an  ox-cart  through  Missouri, 
apparently  in  the  capacity  of  a  surveyor,  with  his  sur- 
veying compass  exposed  in  it,  and  sc  passed  unsuspected, 
and  had  ample  opportunity  to  learn  the  designs  of  the 
enemy.  For  some  time  after  his  arrival  he  still  followed 
the  same  i)rofession.  When,  for  instance,  he  saw  a  knot 
of  the  ruffians  on  the  prairie,  discussing,  of  course,  the  sin- 
gle topic  which  then  occupied  their  minds,  he  would,  per- 
haps, take  his  com})ass  and  one  of  his  sons,  and  proceed  to 
run  an  imaginary  lino  right  through  the  very  spot  on 
which  that  conclave  had  assembled,  and  when  he  came 
up  to  them,  he  would  naturally  i)ause  and  have  some  talk 
with  them,  learning  their  news,  and,  at  last,  all  their 
plans  perfectly;  and  having  thus  completed  his  real  sur- 
vey he  would  resume  his  imaginary  one,  and  run  on  his 
line  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 

When  I  expressed  sur[)rise  that  he  could  live  in  Kan- 
sas at  all,  with  a  price  set  upon  his  head,  and  so  large  a 
number,  inchuling  the  authorities,  exa<i)erated  against 
him,  he  accounted  for  it  by  saying,  "  It  is  [)erfectly  well 
understood  that  I  will  not  be  taken."  IMuch  of  the  time 
ibr  som(!  years  he  has  had  to  skulk  in  swamps,  sufKM'ing 
from  poverty  and  from  sickness,  which  was  th(3  con- 
sequence of  exposure,  befriended  only  by  Indians  and 
a  few  whites.      !Jut  though  it  might  be  known   thai   he 


158 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BliOWN. 


wa3  lurking  in  a  particular  swamp,  his  foes  commonly 
(lid  not  care  to  go  in  after  liiin.  lie  could  even  come 
out  into  a  town  where  there  were  more  Border  Ruirians 
than  Free  State  men,  and  transact  some  business,  without 
delaying  long,  and  yet  not  be  molested;  for,  said  he,  "No 
little  handful  of  men  were  willing  to  uncTcrtake  it,  and  a 
large  body  could  not  be  got  together  in  season." 

As  for  his  recent  failure,  we  do  not  know  the  facts 
about  it.  It  was  evidently  far  from  being  a  wild  and 
desperate  attempt.  Ilis  enemy,  Mr.  Vallandigham,  is 
compelled  to  say,  thit  "  il  was  among  the  best  planned 
and  executed  conspiracies  that  ever  failed." 

Not  to  mention  his  other  successes,  was  it  a  failure, 
or  did  it  show  a  want  of  good  management,  to  deliver 
from  bondage  a  dozen  human  beings,  and  walk  off  with 
them  by  broad  daylight,  for  weeks  if  not  montlis,  at  a 
leisurely  pace,  through  one  State  after  another,  for  half 
tlie  length  of  the  North,  conspicuous  to  all  parties,  with 
a  price  set  upon  his  head,  going  into  a  court-room  on  his 
way  and  telling  what  he  had  done,  thus  convincing  JNlis- 
Bouri  that  it  was  not  profitablii  to  ti-y  to  hold  slaves  in 
his  neighborhood  ?  —  and  this,  not  b<'c:uise  tiie  govern- 
ment menials  were  lenient,  but  because  they  were  afraid 
of  him. 

Yet  he  did  not  attribute  his  success,  foolishly,  to  "  his 
star,"  or  to  any  magic.  lie  said,  truly,  that  tlie  reason 
why  such  greatly  superior  numbers  quailed  before  him 
was,  as  one  of  his  prisoners  cotifessed,  because  they  /(tried 
a  c'lusc,  —  a  kind  of  armor  which  he  and  his  party  never 
lacked.  AVhen  the  time  came,  few  men  were  found 
willing  to  lay  down  their  lives  in  defence  of  what  they 
knew  to  be  wrong;  Ihey  did  not  like  that  tiiis  should  bo 
Ihcir  last   act  in  this  world. 


A  VLKX   FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


lo9 


But  to  make  haste  to  his  last  act,  and  its  effects. 

The  newspapers  seem  to  ignore,  or  perhaps  are  really 
ingorant  of  the  fact,  thftt  there  are  at  least  as  many  as 
two  or  three  individuals  to  a  town  throughout  the  North 
who  think  much  as  the  present  speaker  does  about  him 
and  his  enterprise.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  they 
are  an  important  and  growing  party.  We  aspire  to  bo 
something  more  than  stupid  and  timid  chattels,  pretend- 
ing to  read  history  and  our  Bibles,  but  desecrating  every 
house  and  every  day  we  breathe  in.  Perhaps  anxious 
politicians  may  prove  that  only  seventeen  white  men  and 
five  negroes  were  concerned  in  the  late  enterprise  ;  but 
their  very  anxiety  to  prove  this  might  suggest  to  them- 
selves that  all  is  not  told.  Why  do  they  still  dodge  the 
truth?  They  are  so  anxious  because  of  a  dim  conscious- 
ness of  the  i'act,  which  they  do  not  distinctly  face,  that  at 
least  a  million  of  the  free  inhabitants  of  the  United  States 
would  have  rejoiced  if  it  had  succeeded.  They  at 
most  only  criticise  the  tactics.  Though  we  wear  no 
crape,  the  thought  of  that  man's  position  and  probable 
fate  is  spoiling  many  a  man's  day  here  at  the  North  for 
other  thinking.  If  any  one  who  has  seen  him  here  can 
pursue  successfully  any  other  train  of  thought,  I  do  not 
know  what  he  is  made  of.  If  thore  is  any  such  who 
gets  his  usual  allowance  of  sleep,  I  will  warrant  him  to 
fatten  easily  under  any  circumstances  wh'.ch  do  not  touch 
his  body  or  purse.  I  put  a  piece  of  paper  ami  a  pencil 
under  my  pillow,  and  when  I  (umld  not  sleep,  I  wrote  in 
the  dark. 

On  the  whole,  my  respect  for  my  fellow-men,  except 
as  one  may  outweigh  a  million,  is  not  being  increased 
these  days.  I  have  noticed  the  cold-ldooded  way  in 
which  newspapei'  writers  an<l  men  generally  s[»eak  of 


IGO 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAl'TAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


Iii!|   ! 


!   f 


this  event,  as  if  an  ordinary  malefiictor,  tliough  one  of 
unusual  "  pluck,"  —  as  the  Governor  of  Virginia  is  re- 
ported to  have  said,  using  the  hinguage  of  the  coclc-pit, 
"  the  gamest  man  he  ever  saw,"  —  had  been  caught,  and 
were  about  to  be  hung,  lie  was  not  dreaming  of  his 
foes  when  the  governor  tliought  he  looked  so  brave.  It 
turns  what  sweetness  I  have  to  gall,  to  hear,  or  hear 
of,  tlie  remarks  of  some  of  my  neighbors.  When  wc 
heard  at  first  that  he  was  dead,  one  of  my  townsmen 
observed  that  "  he  died  as  the  fool  dieth  "  ;  which,  par- 
don me,  for  an  instant  suggested  a  likeness  in  him  dying 
to  my  neighbor  living.  Others,  craven-hearted,  said 
disparagingly,  that  "  he  throw  his  life  away,"  because  ho 
resisted  the  government.  Which  way  have  they  thrown 
their  lives,  pray  ?  —  such  as  would  praise  a  man  for 
attacking  singly  an  ordinary  band  of  thieves  or  mur- 
derers. I  hear  another  ask,  Yankee-like,  "  What  will 
he  gain  by  it  ?  "  as  if  he  expected  to  fill  his  pockets  by 
this  enterprise.  Such  a  one  has  no  idea  of  gain  but  in 
this  worldly  sense.  If  it  does  not  lead  to  a  "surprise" 
party,  if  he  does  not  get  a  new  pair  of  boots,  or  a  vote 
of  thanks,  it  must  be  a  fliilure.  "  But  he  won't  gain  any- 
thing by  it."  Well,  no,  I  don't  suppose  he  could  get 
four-and-sixpence  a  day  for  being  hung,  take  the  year 
round  ;  but  then  he  stands  a  cliance  to  save  a  consid- 
erable part  of  his  soul,  —  and  such  a  soul !  —  when  yon 
do  not.  No  doubt  you  can  get  more  in  your  market  for 
a  quart  of  milk  than  for  a  quart  of  blood,  but  that  is 
not  the  market  that  heroes  carry  their  blood  to. 

Such  do  not  know  that  like  the  seed  is  the  fruit,  and 
that,  in  the  moral  world,  when  good  seed  is  planted, 
good  fruit  is  inevitable,  and  docs  not  dej)end  on  our 
watering  and  cultivating ;  that  when  you  i>lant,  or  bury, 


A  PLEA  FOIi  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


IGl 


a  hero  in  bi.s  field,  a  crop  of  lieroes  i.s  sure  to  spring  up. 
This  is  a  seed  of  such  force  and  vitality,  that  it  does  not 
ask  our  leave  to  gerniinatc. 

The  momentary  charge  at  Balaclava,  in  obedience  to 
a  blundering  command,  proving  what  a  perfect  machine 
the  soldier  is,  has,  properly  enough,  been  celebrated  by 
a  poet  laureate ;  but  the  .steady,  and  for  the  most  part 
succesiiful,  charge  of  this  man,  for  some  years,  against 
the  legions  of  Slavery,  in  obedience  to  an  infinitely 
higher  command,  is  as  much  more  memorable  than  that, 
as  an  intelligent  and  conscientious  man  is  superior  to  a 
maclune.     Do  you  think  that  that  will  go  unsung? 

"  Served  him  right,"  —  "  A  dangerous  man,"  —  "  lie  is 
undoubtedly  insane."  So  they  proceed  to  live  their  sane, 
and  wise,  and  altogether  admiralde  lives,  reading  their 
Plutarch  a  little,  but  chielly  pausing  at  that  feat  of  Put- 
nam, who  was  let  down  into  a  wolf's  den  ;  and  in  this 
wise  they  nourish  themselves  for  brave  and  patriotic 
deeds  some  time  or  other.  The  Tract  Society  could 
aiford  to  print  that  story  of  Putnam.  You  might  open 
the  district  schools  with  the  reading  of  it,  for  there  is 
nothing  about  Slavery  or  the  Church  in  it ;  unless  it 
occurs  to  the  reader  that  some  pastors  are  ivolves  in 
sheep's  clothing.  "The  American  lioard  of  Commis- 
sioners for  Foreign  IMissions"  even,  might  dare  to  pro- 
test against  tliat  wolf.  I  have  heard  of  boards,  and  of 
American  boards,  but  it  chances  that  I  never  heard  of 
this  particular  lumber  till  lately.  And  yet  I  hear  of 
Northern  men,  and  women,  and  children,  by  families, 
buying  a  "life  meml)ershi[) "  in  such  societies  as  these. 
A  life-membership  in  the  grave  !  You  can  get  buried 
cheaper  than  that. 

Our  foes  are  in  our  midst  and  all  about  us.     There  is 


162 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


ni 


hardly  a  house  but  is  divided  against  itself,  for  our  foe  is 
the  all  hut  universal  woodenness  of  both  head  and  heart, 
the  want  of  vitality  in  man,  which  is  the  elfect  of  our  vice  ; 
and  hence  are  begotten  fear,  superstition,  bigotry,  perse- 
cution, and  slavery  of  all  kinds.  AVe  are  mere  figure- 
heads upon  a  hulk,  with  livers  in  the  place  of  hearts. 
The  curse  is  the  worship  of  idols,  which  at  length  changes 
the  worshipper  into  a  stone  image  himself;  and  the 
New-Englander  is  just  as  much  an  idolater  as  the  Hin- 
doo. This  man  was  an  exception,  for  he  did  not  set  up 
even  a  political  graven  image  between  him  and  his  God. 

A  church  that  can  never  have  done  with  excommuni- 
cating Christ  while  it  exists !  Away  with  your  broad 
and  flat  churches,  and  your  narrow  and  tall  churches ! 
Take  a  step  forward,  and  invent  a  new  style  of  out- 
houses. Invent  a  salt  that  will  save  you,  and  defend 
our  nostrils. 

The  modern  Christian  is  a  man  who  has  consented  to 
say  all  the  prayers  in  the  liturgy,  provided  you  will  let 
him  go  straight  to  bed  and  sleep  quietly  afterward.  All 
his  prayers  begin  with  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 
and  he  is  forever  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  he 
shall  go  to  his  "  long  rest."  He  has  consented  to  per- 
form certain  old-established  charities,  too,  after  a  fashion, 
but  he  does  not  wish  to  hear  of  any  new-fangled  ones  ;  he 
does  n't  wish  to  have  any  sujiplementary  articles  added 
to  the  contract,  to  fit  it  to  the  present  time.  He  shows 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  on  the  Sabbath,  and  the  blacks  all 
the  rest  of  the  week.  The  evil  is  not  merely  a  stagna- 
tion of  blood,  but  a  stagnation  of  spirit.  Many,  no 
doubt,  are  well  disposed,  but  sluggish  by  constitution  and 
by  habit,  and  they  cannot  conceive  of  a  man  who  is  act- 
uated by  higher  motives  than  they  are.      Accordingly 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


1G3 


they  pronounce  this  man  insane,  for  they  know  that  they 
could  never  act  as  he  does,  as  long  as  they  are  them- 
selves. 

We  dream  of  foreign  countries,  of  other  times  and 
races  of  men,  placing  them  at  a  distance  in  history  or 
space ;  but  let  some  significant  event  like  the  present  oc- 
cur in  our  midst,  and  we  discover,  often,  this  distance  and 
this  strangeness  between  us  and  our  nearest  neighbors. 
They  are  our  Austrias,  and  Chinas,  and  South  Sea  Islands. 
Our  crowded  society  becomes  well  spaced  all  at  once, 
clean  and  handsome  to  the  eye,  —  a  city  of  magnificent 
distances.  We  discover  why  it  was  that  we  never  got 
beyond  compliments  and  surfjices  with  them  before ;  we 
become  aware  of  as  many  versts  between  us  and  them 
as  there  are  between  a  wanderinn;  Tartar  and  a  Chinese 
town.  The  thoughtful  man  becomes  a  hermit  in  the 
thoroughfares  of  the  market-place.  Impassable  seas 
suddenly  find  their  level  between  us,  or  dumb  steppes 
stretch  themselves  out  there.  It  is  the  difference  of  con- 
stitution, of  intelligence,  and  faith,  and  not  streams  and 
mountains,  that  make  the  true  and  impassable  boundaries 
between  individuals  and  between  states.  ^None  but  the 
like-minded  can  come  plenipotentiary  to  our  court. 

I  read  all  the  newspapers  I  could  get  within  a  week 
after  this  event,  and  I  do  not  remember  in  them  a  single 
expression  of  sympathy  for  these  men.  I  have  since 
seen  one  noble  statement,  in  a  Boston  paper,  not  editorial. 
Some  voluminous  sheets  decided  not  to  print  the  full  re- 
port of  Brown's  words  to  the  exclusion  of  other  matter. 
It  was  as  if  a  publi,sher  should  reject  the  manuscript  of 
the  New  Testament,  and  print  Wilson's  last  speech. 
The  same  journal  which  contained  this  pregnant  news, 
was  chiefly  filled,  in  parallel  columns,  with  the  reports 


164 


A  TLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


ill 


of  the  political  conventions  that  were  being  held.  But 
the  descent  to  them  was  too  steep.  They  should  have 
been  spared  this  contrast,  —  been  printed  in  an  extra,  at 
least.  To  turn  from  tlie  voices  and  deeds  of  earnest 
men  to  the  cackling  of  political  conventions !  Office- 
seekers  and  speech-makers,  who  do  not  so  much  as  lay 
an  honest  ^.'.^^^  but  wear  their  breasts  bare  upon  an  egg  of 
chalk !  Their  great  game  is  the  game  of  straws,  or  rather 
that  universal  aboriginal  game  of  the  platter,  at  which 
the  Indians  cried  huh,  huh  !  Exclude  the  reports  of  re- 
ligious and  political  conventions,  and  publish  the  words 
of  a  living  man. 

But  I  object  not  so  much  to  what  they  have  omitted, 
as  to  what  they  have  inserted.  Even  the  Liherator  called 
it  "  a  misguided,  wild,  and  apparently  insane  —  effort." 
As  for  the  herd  of  newspapers  and  magazines,  I  do 
not  chance  to  know  an  editor  in  the  country  who  will 
deliberately  print  anything  which  he  knows  will  ulti- 
mately and  permanently  reduce  the  number  of  his  sub- 
scribers. They  do  not  believe  that  it  would  be  expedient. 
IIow  then  can  they  print  truth?  If  we  do  not  say 
pleasant  things,  they  argue,  nobody  Avill  attend  to  us. 
And  so  they  do  like  some  travelling  auctioneers,  who 
sing  an  obscene  song,  in  order  to  draw  a  crowd  around 
them.  Kepublican  editors,  obliged  to  get  their  sentences 
ready  for  the  morning  edition,  jind  accustomed  to  look 
at  everything  by  the  twilight  of  politics,  express  no 
admiration,  nor  true  sorrow  even,  but  call  these  men 
"  deluded  fanatics,"  —  "  mistaken  men,"  —  "  insane,"  or 
"crazed."  It  sujrffests  what  a  sane  set  of  editors  we 
are  blessed  with,  not  "mistaken  men"  ;  who  know  very 
well  on  which  side  their  bread  is  buttered,  at  least. 

A  man  docs  a  brave  and  humane  deed,  and  at  once,  on 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


16i) 


all  sides,  we  hear  people  and  parties  declaring,  ''Tdid  n't  do 
it,  nor  countenance  liim  to  do  it,  in  any  conceivable  way. 
It  can't  be  fairly  inferred  from  my  past  career."  I,  for 
one,  am  not  interested  to  hear  you  defme  your  position. 
I  don't  know  that  I  ever  was,  or  ever  shall  be.  I  think 
it  is  mere  egotism,  or  impertinent  at  this  time.  Ye 
needn't  take  so  much  pains  to  wash  your  skirts  of  him. 
No  intelligent  man  w^ill  ever  be  convinced  that  he  was 
any  creature  of  yours.  He  went  and  came,  as  he  him- 
self informs  u-,  "  under  the  auspices  of  .John  Brown  and 
nobody  else."  The  Republican  party  does  not  perceive 
how  many  his  failnre  will  make  to  vote  more  correctly 
than  they  would  have  them.  They  have  counted  the 
votes  of  Pennsylvania  &  Co.,  but  they  have  not  correctly 
counted  Captain  Brown's  vote.  He  has  taken  the  wind 
out  of  their  sails,  —  the  little  wind  they  had,  —  and  they 
may  as  well  lie  to  and  repair. 

What  though  he  did  not  belong  to  your  clique ! 
Though  you  may  not  approve  of  his  method  or  his  prin- 
ciples, recognize  his  magnanimity.  Would  you  not  like 
to  claim  kindredship  with  him  in  that,  though  in  no 
other  thing  he  is  like,  or  likely,  to  you  ?  Do  you  think 
that  you  would  lose  your  reputation  so  ?  W'hat  you  lost 
at  the  spile,  you  would  gain  at  the  bung. 

If  they  do  not  mean  all  this,  then  they  do  not  speak 
the  truth,  and  say  what  they  mean.  They  are  simply 
at  their  old  tricks  still. 

"  It  was  always  conceded  to  him,"  saj/s  one  loho  calls 
him  crazf/,  "  that  he  was  a  conscientious  man,  very  mod- 
est in  his  demeanor,  apparently  inoffensive,  until  the  sub- 
ject of  Slavery  was  introduced,  when  he  would  exhibit  a 
feeling  of  indignation  unparalleled." 

The  slave-ship  is  on  her  way,  crowded  with  its  dying 


•f-J 


IGG 


A  TLEA  FOR  CAP  TAIN  JOHN  BKOWN. 


w 


in! 


victims  ;  new  carpjoes  are  being  added  in  mid-ocean ; 
a  small  crew  of  slaveholders,  countenanced  by  a  large 
body  of  passengers,  is  smotliering  four  millions  under 
the  hatches,  and  yet  the  politician  asserts  that  the  only 
proper  way  by  which  deliverance  is  to  be  obtained,  is 
by  "  the  quiet  diffusion  of  the  sentiments  of  humanity," 
without  any  "  outbreak."  As  if  the  sentiments  of  hu- 
manity were  ever  found  un.accompanied  by  its  deeds, 
and  you  could  disperse  them,  all  finished  to  order,  the 
^v  re  article,  as  easily  as  water  with  a  watering-pot,  and 
so  lay  the  dust.  What  is  that  that  I  hear  cast  overboard  ? 
The  bodies  of  the  dead  that  have  found  deliverance. 
That  is  the  way  we  are  "diffusing"  humanity,  and  its 
sentiments  with  it. 

Prominent  and  influential  editors,  accustomed  to  deal 
"with  politicians,  men  of  an  infinitely  lower  grade,  say, 
in  their  ignorance,  that  he  acted  "  on  the  principle  of 
revenge."  They  do  not  know  the  man.  They  must  en- 
large themselves  to  conceive  of  him.  i  have  no  doubt 
that  the  time  will  come  when  tliey  will  begin  to  see  him 
as  he  was.  They  have  got  to  conceive  of  a  man  of  faith 
and  of  religious  princi])le,  and  not  a  politician  or  an  In- 
dian ;  of  a  man  who  did  not  wait  till  he  was  personally 
interfered  with  or  thwarted  in  some  harmless  business 
before  he  gave  his  life  to  tlie  cause  of  the  0{)pressed. 

If  Walker  may  be  considered  the  representative  of  the 
South,  I  wish  I  could  say  that  Brown  was  the  represent- 
ative of  the  North.  He  was  a  superior  man.  lie  did 
not  value  his  bodily  life  in  comparison  with  ideal  things. 
He  did  not  recognize  unjust  human  laws,  but  resisted 
them  as  he  was  bid.  For  once  we  are  lifted  out  of  the 
trivialness  and  dust  of  politics  into  the  region  of  truth 
and  manhood.     No  man  in  America  has  ever  stood  up 


li 


A   PLKA   FOU  CAPTAIN  JOHN   HROWN. 


107 


ocean  ; 

larpre 

under 

;  only 

ned,  is 

anity, 
of  hu- 
deed^, 

er,  the 

ot,  and 

'board  ? 

erancc. 

and  its 

to  deal 
le,  say, 
iple  of 
iiust  cn- 
[}  doubt 
3ee  him 
of  faith 

an  In- 
rsonally 
business 
sed. 

re  of  the 
prescnt- 

IIc  did 
I  things. 

resisted 
t  of  the 
of  truth 
itood  up 


so  persistently  and  elTectively  for  the  dignity  of  human 
natiu'e,  knowing  himself  for  a  man,  and  the  (•i\\\ix\  of 
any  and  all  governments.  In  that  si'iise  Ik;  was  the  mo.-t 
American  of  us  all.  He  needed  no  babblin<;  lawyer, 
making  false  issues,  to  defend  him.  He  was  more  than 
a  match  for  all  the  judges  tliat  American  voters,  or  otlice- 
holders  of  whatever  grade,  can  create.  He  could  not 
have  been  tried  by  a  jury  of  his  peers,  because  his  j)eers 
did  not  exist.  "NVhen  a  man  stands  up  serenely  against 
the  condemnation  and  m'.  reance  of  mankind,  rising 
above  them  literally  hi/  a  whole  body,  —  even  though  he 
were  of  late  the  vilest  murderer,  who  has  settled  that 
matter  with  himself, —  the  spectacle  is  a  suljlime  one, — 
did  n't  ye  know  it,  ye  Liberators^  ye  Tribune:'',  ye  Re- 
publicfins?  —  and  we  become  criminal  in  comparison. 
Do  yourselves  the  honor  to  recognize  him.  He  needs 
none  of  your  respect. 

As  for  the  Democratic  journals,  they  are  not  human 
ep.ou<;h  to  affect  me  at  all.  I  do  not  i'eel  indignation  at 
anything  they  may  say. 

I  am  aware  that  I  anticipate  a  little,  —  that  he  was  still, 
at  the  last  accounts,  alive  in  the  hands  of  his  foes; 
but  that  being  the  case,  I  have  all  along  found  myself 
thinking  and  si)eaking  of  him  as  physically  dead. 

I  do  not  believe  in  erecting  statues  to  those  who  still 
live  in  our  hearts,  whose  bones  have  not  yet  crumbled 
in  the  earth  around  us,  but  I  would  rather  see  the  statue 
of  Captain  Brown  in  the  ISIassaehusetts  State-House 
yard,  than  that  of  any  other  man  whom  I  know.  I  re- 
joice that  I  live  in  this  age,  that  I  am  his  contemi)orary. 

What  a  contrast,  when  we  turn  to  that  political  party 
which  is  so  anxiously  shuHling  him  and  his  plot  out  of 
its  way,  and  looking  around  for  some  availabhi  slave- 


f 


1G8 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAriAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


lii 


'-i'i 


holder,  pcM-liaps,  to  be  its  oandltlnlc,  t  kast  for  one  who 
•will  execute  the  Fugitive  Slave  La"  .imi  all  those  other 
unjust  laws  which  he  took  up  arms  to  annul ! 

Insane  !  A  lather  and  six  sons,  and  one  son-in-law, 
and  several  more  men  besides,  —  as  many  at  least  as 
twelve  disciples,  —  all  struck  with  insanity  at  once; 
while  the  same  tyrant  holds  with  a  firmer  gripe  than 
ever  his  four  millions  of  slaves,  and  a  thousand  sane 
editors,  his  abettors,  are  saving  their  country  and  their 
bacon  !  Just  as  insane  were  his  etforts  in  Kansas.  Ask 
the  tyrant  who  is  his  most  dangerous  foe,  the  sane  man 
or  the  insane?  Do  the  thousands  who  know  him  best, 
who  have  rejoiced  at  his  deeds  in  Kansas,  and  have 
afforded  him  material  aid  there,  think  him  insane  ? 
Such  a  use  of  this  word  is  a  mere  trope  with  most 
who  persist  in  using  it,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  many 
of  the  rest  have  already  in  silence  retracted  their  words. 

Read  his  admirable  answers  to  JMason  and  others. 
How  they  are  dwarfed  and  defeated  by  the  contrast ! 
On  the  one  side,  half-brutish,  half-timid  questioning; 
on  the  other,  truth,  clear  as  liuhlniuif,  crashing;  into 
their  obscene  temphis.  They  are  made  to  stand  with 
Pilate,  and  Gesler,  and  the  Inquisition.  How  ineffec- 
tual their  speech  and  action !  and  what  a  void  their  si- 
lence !  They  are  but  helpless  tools  in  this  great  work. 
It  was  no  human  power  that  gathered  them  about  this 
preacher. 

What  have  Massachusetts  and  the  North  sent  a  few 
sane  representatives  to  Congress  for,  of  late  years  ?  — 
to  declare  with  effect  what  kind  of  sentiments  ?  All 
their  speeches  put  together  and  boiled  down,  —  and  prob- 
ably they  themselves  will  confess  it,  —  do  not  match  for 
manly  directness  and  force,  and  for  simple  truth,  the  few 


.J'A 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIX  JOHN  BROWN. 


1C9 


e  who 
J  other 

in-law, 

2ast    113 

once  ; 
e  than 
1  sane 
1  their 
.  Ask 
le  man 
Ti  best, 
1  have 
nsane  ? 
1  most 
t  many 

words. 

others. 
)ntrast ! 

ioning; 
ICC  hito 
id  with 

ineft'ec- 
heir  si- 
lt work. 
)ut  this 


casual  remarks  of  crazy  John  IJnAvn,  on  the  floor  of  the 
Harper's  Ferry  engine-house,  —  that  man  whom  you  are 
about  to  banL',  to  send  to  the  other  world,  tliougli  not  to 
represent  i/uii  there.  No,  he  was  not  our  representative 
in  any  sense.  1I(!  was  too  fair  a  specimen  of  a  man 
to  represent  the  like  of  us.  Who,  l\niu,wct'e  his  constit- 
uents ?  If  you  read  his  words  understandingly  you  will 
find  out.  In  his  ease  there  is  no  idle  elo(iuence,  no 
made,  nor  maiden  speech,  no  compliments  to  the  oppres- 
sor. Truth  is  his  inspirer,  and  earnestness  the  [K)lisher  of 
his  sentences.  He  could  afford  to  lose  his  Sharpe's 
rilies,  while  he  retained  his  faculty  of  speech,  —  a  Shar[)e's 
rifle  of  inliliitely  surer  and  longer  range. 

And  the  New  York  Ilcndd  reports  the  conversation 
verbatim  !  It  does  not  know  of  what  undying  words  it 
is  made  the  vehicle. 

I  have  no  respect  for  the  penetration  of  any  man  who 
can  read  the  report  of  that  conversation,  and  still  call 
the  i)rincipal  in  it  insane.  It  has  the  ring  of  a  saner 
sanity  than  an  ordinary  disci[)line  and  habits  of  life,  than 
an  ordinary  organization,  secure.  Take  any  sentence  of 
it,  —  "Any  (juestions  that  I  can  honorably  answer,  I 
will ;  not  otherwise.  So  far  as  I  am  myself  concerned,  I 
have  told  everything  truthfully.  I  value  my  word,  sir." 
The  few  who  talk  about  his  vindictive  spirit,  while  they 
really  admire  his  heroism,  have  no  test  by  which  to  de- 
tect a  noble  man,  no  amalgam  to  combine  with  his  pure 
gold.     They  mix  their  own  dross  with  it. 

It  is  a  relief  to  turn  from  these  slanders  to  the  testi- 
mony of  his  more  truthful,  but  frightened  jailers  and 
hangmen.  Governor  Wise  speaks  far  more  justly  and 
api)reciatingly  of  him  than  any  Northern  editor,  or  poli- 
tician, or  public  personage,  that  I  chance  to  have  heard 


170 


A  PLEA  FOr:  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


from.  I  know  that  you  ran  afford  to  hoar  him  again  on 
this  subject.  He  says  :  "  They  arc  themselves  mistaken 
who  take  him  to  be  a  madman He  is  cool,  collect- 
ed, and  indomi:al)le,  und  it  is  but  just  to  him  to  say,  that 

he  was  humane  to  his  prisoners And  he  inspired 

me  with  great  trust  in  his  integrity  as  a  man  of  truth. 
lie  is  a  fanatic,  vain  and  garrulous,"  (I  leave  that  part 
to  ]\rr.  Wise,)  '■  but  firm,  truthful,  and  intelligent.     His 

men,  too,  who    survive,    are    like    him Colonel 

Washington  says  that  he  was  the  coolest  and  firmest 
man  he  ever  saw  in  defying  danger  and  death.  With 
one  son  dead  by  his  side,  and  another  shot  through,  ho 
felt  the  pulse  of  his  dying  son  with  one  hand,  and  held 
his  rifle  with  che  other,  and  commanded  his  men  with 
the  utmost  composure,  encouraging  them  to  be  firm,  and 
to  sell  their  lives  as  dear  as  they  could.  Of  the  three 
white  prisoners,  l)ro\vn,  Stei)liens,  and  Coppic,  it  was 
hard  to  say  which  was  most  firm." 

Almost  the  first  Northern  men  whom  the  slaN  eholder 
has  learned  to  respect ! 

Tlic  testimony  of  JMr.  Vallandigham,  though  less 
valuable,  is  of  tlic  same  purport,  that  "  it  is  vain  to  un- 
derrate either  the  man  or  his  conspiracy He  is 

the  farthest  possible  removed  from  the  ordinary  rullian, 
fanatic,  or  madmjjn." 

"  All  is  quiet  at  Harper's  Ferry,"  say  the  journals. 
What  is  the  character  of  that  csilm  which  follows  when 
the  law  and  tlie  slaveholder  prevail  ?  I  regard  this 
event  as  a  touchstone  desimied  to  brinij  out,  witli  lilarinj; 
distinr+ness,  the  character  of  this  government.  AVe 
needed  to  be  thus  assisted  to  see  it  by  the  light  of  his- 
tory. It  needed  to  see  itself.  Wlien  a  govermuent 
puts  forth  its  strength  on  the  side  of  injustice,  us  ours  to 


^1 
a| 

il 

1] 
e| 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOIIN  RROWN. 


171 


on 
ken 
ect- 
that 
ired 
•utU. 
part 

II'h 
lunel 
■mcst 
With 
;h,  bo 
I  held 
I  with 
n,  and 

thrco 
it  was 

holder 

I     1CS3 

to  un- 

lle  i^i 

riilViaii, 

muMials. 
Ks  when 
ird  this 
ghiriuf; 
.      W.; 
;tofhis- 
t'lMunent 
s  ours  to 


maintain  slavery  and  kill  tlie  liberators  of  the  slave,  it 
reveals  itself  a  merely  brute  force,  or  worse,  a  demoni- 
acal force.  It  is  the  head  of  the  Plu<j-U<'lics.  It  id 
more  manifest  than  ever  that  tyranny  rules.  I  see  this 
government  to  be  effectu'dly  allied  with  France  and 
Austria  in  oppressing  mankind.  There  sits  a  tyrant 
holdin':^  fettered  four  milhons  of  slaves  ;  here  comes  their 
heroic  lil)erator.  Tiiis  most  hypocritical  and  diabolical 
government  looks  up  from  its  seat  on  the  gas[)ing  four 
millions,  and  inquires  with  an  assumption  of  iimocence : 
"  What  do  you  assault  me  for  ?  Am  I  not  an  honest 
man  ?  Cease  agitation  on  tliis  subject,  or  I  will  make  a 
slave  of  you,  too,  or  else  nang  you." 

We  talk  about  a  represontdtice  government ;  but  what 
a  monster  of  a  government  is  that  where  the  noblest 
faculties  of  the  mind,  and  the  tvhole  heart,  arc  not  rej)- 
rcsented.  A  semi-human  tiger  or  ox,  stalkincr  over  the 
earth,  with  its  heart  taken  out  and  tlie  top  of  its  brain 
shot  away.  Heroes  have  fought  well  on  their  stum})s 
when  tlieir  legs  were  shot  olf,  but  I  never  heard  of  any 
good  done  by  such  a  government  as  tluit. 

The  only  government  that  I  recognize,  —  and  it 
matters  not  how  few  are  at  the  head  of  it,  or  how  small 
its  army,  —  is  that  power  that  establishes  justice  in  tln^ 
land,  never  that  which  establishes  injustice.  What  shall 
we  think  of  a  government  to  which  all  the  truly  bravo 
and  just  men  in  the  land  are  enemies,  standing  between 
it  and  those  whom  it  oppresses  ?  A  goverinnent  that 
pretends  to  be  Christian  and  crucifies  a  million  Christs 
every  day  ! 

Treason !  Where  does  such  treason  take  its  rise  ?  I 
cannot  help  thiid<ing  of  you  as  you  deserve,  ye  govern- 
ments. Can  you  dry  up  the  fountains  of  thought  ?     High 


172 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


I  i 


treason,  when  it  is  resistance  to  tyranny  here  below,  has 
its  origin  in,  and  is  first  coramiited  by,  the  power  that 
makes  and  forever  recreates  man.  When  you  have 
cau,i,dit  and  hung  all  these  human  rebels,  you  have 
accomplished  notliing  but  your  own  guilt,  for  you  have 
not  struck  at  the  fountain-head.  You  presume  to  contend 
with  a  foe  against  whom  West  Point  cadets  and  rifled 
cannon  point  not.  Can  all  the  art  of  the  cannon-founder 
tem[)t  niatt'T  to  turn  against  it  >  maker  ?  Is  the  form  in 
which  the  founder  thinks  he  cast>^  ir  more  essential  than 
the  constitution  of  it  and  of  himself? 

The  United  States  have  a  coHle  of  four  millions  of 
slaves.  They  are  determined  to  keep  them  in  this 
condition  ;  and  IMassaehusetts  is  one  of  the  confedei-ated 
overseers  to  prev(mt  their  rsca{)e.  Such  are  not  all  the 
inhabitants  of  Massachusetts,  but  sueh  are  they  who 
rule  and  are  obeyed  here.  It  was  JMassachusetts,  as  well 
as  Virginia,  that  put  down  this  insurrection  at  llari»er's 
Ferry.  She  sunt  the  marin<.'s  there,  and  she  will  have 
to  jn'f/  the  pcnalfi/  of  Jicr  sin. 

Sup[)o>e  that  there  is  a  society  in  this  State  that  out 
of  its  own  i)urse  and  miignanimity  saves  all  the  fugitive 
slaves  that  run  to  us,  and  protects  our  colored  fellow-citi- 
zens, and  leaves  the  other  work  to  the  government,  so- 
called.  Is  not  that  government  fast  losing  its  occupation, 
and  becoming  contemi)tiI)le  to  mmkind?  l(  private 
men  are  obliged  to  perform  the  ollices  of  government,  to 
protect  the  weak  and  dispense  justice,  then  the  govern- 
ment l)ee()mes  only  a  hiied  man,  or  clerk,  to  i)erforni 
menial  or  indilVerent  services.  Of  course,  that  is  but 
the  ."hadow  of  a  government  whose  existence  necessitates 
u  Vigilant  Committee.  AVhat  should  we  tliink  of  the 
Oiiental   Cadi  even,  behind  whom  worked  in  secret  u 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


173 


vigilant  committee  ?  But  such  is  the  clianictci"  of  our 
Noiitlicrn  States  generally  ;  each  has  its  Vi.L'ilaiit  Com- 
mittee. And,  to  a  certain  extent,  these  cra/y  ,!i;overn- 
ments  recon;nize  and  accept  this  relation.  Tliey  say, 
virtually,  "  We  '11  he  glad  to  work  for  you  on  these  terms, 
only  don't  make  a  noise  ahout  it."  And  thus  the  govern- 
ment, its  salary  being  insun-d,  withdraws  into  the  back 
shop,  taking  the  Constitution  with  it,  and  bestows  most 
of  its  labor  on  rej)airing  that.  V>'hcn  I  hear  it  at  work 
sometimes,  as  I  go  by,  it  reminds  me,  at  best,  of  those 
farmers  who  in  winter  contrive  to  turn  a  penny  by  follow- 
ing the  coopering  business.  And  what  kind  of  s[»irit  is 
their  barrel  made  to  hold?  They  speculate  in  stocks, 
and  bore  holes  in  mountains,  but  they  are  not  competent 
to  hiy  out  even  a  decent  highway.  The  only //re  road, 
the  Underground  IJailroad,  is  owned  and  i  lanaged  by 
the  Vigilant  Conunittee.  T^'cy  have  tu'uielled  under 
the  whole  breadth  of  the  land.  Such  a  government  is 
losing  its  power  and  respectability  as  surely  as  water 
runs  out  of  a  leaky  vessel,  and  is  h(dd  by  one  that  can 
contain  it. 

I  hear  many  condemn  these  men  because  they  were 
80  few.  When  were  the  geoti  and  the  brave  e\<'r  in  a 
majority?  Would  you  have  ; "  < ^  him  wait  till  that  tinuj 
came?  —  till  you  and  I  vnne  o.er  to  him?  The  very 
fact  that  he  had  no  rabid  j  i.>r  iroop  of  bindings  about 
him  would  alone  distingui -h  him  fro  n  oi'dinary  heroe>. 
His  company  was  small  indeed,  JM-'-au^e  few  could  be. 
found  worthy  to  pass  nuister.  Kaeh  one  who  th<'r<'  laid 
down  his  life  for  the  poor  and  o]>pres-ed  was  a  picked 
man,  culled  out  of  many  thousands,  if  not  millions;  aj)- 
l^arcntly  a  man  of  prineijde,  of  rare  courage,  and  devoted 
humanity ;  ready  to  sacrifices  his  life  at  •  ny  moment  for 


174 


A  PLEA   FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BPvOWN. 


the  benefit  of  his  fellow-man.  It  may  be  doubted  if 
there  were  as  many  more  their  equals  in  these  resj)ect3  in 
all  the  country  ;  —  I  speak  of  his  followers  only  ;  —  for 
their  leader,  no  doubt,  scoured  the  land  far  and  wide, 
seeking  to  swell  his  troop.  These  alone  were  ready  to 
step  between  the  oppressor  and  the  oppressed.  Surely 
they  were  the  very  best  men  you  could  select  to  be  hung. 
That  was  the  greatest  comjdiment  which  this  country 
could  pay  them.  They  v,  ere  rij)e  for  her  gallows.  8!ic 
has  tried  a  long  time,  she  has  hung  a  good  many,  but 
never  found  the  right  one  before. 

When  I  think  of  him,  and  his  six  sons,  and  his 
son-in-law,  not  to  enumerate  the  others,  enlisted  fur  this 
fight,  proceeding  coolly,  reverently,  humanely  to  work, 
for  months  if  not  years,  sleeping  and  waking  ui)on  it, 
summering  and  wintering  the  thought,  without  expecting 
any  reward  but  a  good  conscience,  while  almost  all  Amer- 
ica stood  ranked  on  the  other  side,  —  I  say  again  that  it  af- 
fects me  as  a  sublime  spectacle.  If  he  had  had  any  jouriial 
advocating  ''  his  cause,"  any  organ,  as  the  })hrase  is,  mo- 
notonously and  wearisomely  playing  the  SiMne  old  tune, 
and  then  passing  round  the  hat,  it  would  h^ve  been  fatal 
to  his  elficiency.  If  he  had  acted  in  any  \v'ay  so  as  to 
be  let  alone  by  the  government,  he  might  have  been  sus- 
pected. It  was  the  fact  that  the  t}  rant  must  give  place 
to  him,  or  he  to  the  tyrant,  that  distinguished  him  from 
all  the  reformers  of  the  day  that  I  know. 

It  was  his  peculiar  doctrine  that  a  man  has  a  perfect 
right  to  interfere  by  Ibrce  with  the  slaveholder,  in  order 
to  rescue  the  slave.  I  agree  with  him.  They  who  are 
continually  shocked  by  slavery  have  some  right  to  be 
shocked  by  the  violent  death  of  the  slaveholder,  but  no 
others.     Such  will  bo  more  shocked  by  his  life  than  by 


A  TLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


175 


his  death.  I  shall  not  be  forward  to  think  him  mistaken 
in  his  method  who  (quickest  succeeds  to  liberate  the  t-lave. 
I  sp(.'ak  for  the  slave  when  I  say,  that  I  prefer  the  phi- 
lanthropy of  Captain  Brown  to  that  phihmthropy  which 
neither  shoots  me  nor  liberates  me.  At  any  rate,  I  do 
not  think  it  is  quite  sane  for  one  to  spend  his  whole 
life  in  talking  or  writing  about  this  matter,  unless  he  is, 
continuously  inspired,  and  I  have  not  done  so.  A  man 
may  have  other  affairs  to  attend  to.  I  do  not  wisli  to 
kill  nor  to  be  killed,  but  I  can  foresee  circumsUuices  in 
which  both  the-  things  would  be  by  me  unavoidable. 
We  preserve  the  so-called  peace  of  our  community  by 
deeds  of  petty  violence  every  day.  Look  at  the  police- 
man's billy  and  handcutls !  Look  at  the  jail !  J^ook  at 
the  gallows!  Look  at  the  chaplain  of  the  regiment! 
We  are  hoping  only  to  live  safely  on  the  outskirts  of 
t/u's  i)rovibional  army.  So  we  defend  ourselves  and  our 
hen-roosts,  and  maintain  slavery.  I  know  that  the  mass 
of  my  countrymen  think  that  the  only  righteous  use  that 
can  be  made  of  Sharpe's  riHes  and  revolvers  is  to  fight 
duels  with  them,  when  we  are  insulted  by  other  nations, 
or  to  hunt  Indians,  or  shoot  fugitive  slaves  with  them,  or 
the  like.  I  think  that  lor  once  the  Sharpe's  rifles  and 
the  revolvers  were  employed  in  a  righteous  cause.  Tho 
tools  were  in  the  hands  of  one  who  could  use  them. 

The  same  indignation  tliat  is  said  to  have  cleared  the 
temple  on.'e  will  clear  it  again.  The  (picstion  is  not 
about  the  weapon,  but  the  spirit  in  v^'hich  you  use  it. 
No  man  has  ai)[)eared  in  America,  as  yet,  who  loved  his 
iellow-man  so  well,  and  treateil  him  so  tenderly.  Ho 
lived  for  him.  He  took  up  his  life  and  he  laid  it  down 
f(U'  him.  What  sort  of  violence  is  tiiat  which  is  en- 
couraged, not  by  soldiers,  but  by  peaceable  citizens,  not 


11 

i 

\ 

I 


^4' 


176  A   PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 

SO  much  by  laymen  as  by  ministers  of  the  Go>pcl,  not  so 
much  by  the  fighting  sects  as  by  the  Quakers,  and  not  so 
much  by  Quaker  men  as  by  Quaker  women  ? 

This  event  advertises  me  that  there  is  such  a  fact  as 
death,  —  tlie  possibility  of  a  man's  dying.  It  seems  as 
if  no  man  had  ever  died  in  America  before  ;  for  in  order 
to  die  you  must  first  have  lived.  I  don't  believe  in  the 
hcprses,  and  palls,  and  funerals  that  they  have  had. 
There  Avas  no  death  in  the  case,  because  there  had  been 
no  life  ;  they  merely  rotted  or  sloughed  off,  pretty  mueli 
as  they  had  rotted  or  slouglied  along.  No  temple's  veil 
was  rent,  only  a  hole  dug  somewhere.  Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead.  The  best  of  them  fairly  ran  down  like 
a  clock.  Franklin,  —  Washington,  —  tliey  were  let  oft' 
without  dying;  they  were  merely  missing  one  day. 
I  hear  a  good  many  pretend  that  Ihey  are  going  to  die; 
or  that  Jhey  ha  c  died,  for  aight  that  I  know.  Non- 
sense!  I '11  defy  them  to  do  it.  Tiiey  have  n't  got  lifo 
enough  in  them.  They'll  dernpiesee  like  fungi,  and 
keep  a  hundred  eulogi>is  mopping  the  spot  where  they 
left  off.  Only  half  a  dozen  or  so  have  died  since  the 
world  began.  Do  you  tliink  that  you  are  going  to  die, 
sir  ?  No !  there 's  no  hope  of  you.  You  have  n't  got 
}  our  lesson  yet.  You  've  got  to  stay  after  school.  We 
make  a  needless  ado  about  capital  punishment,  —  tak- 
ing lir(\^,  when  there  io  no  life  to  take.  Afeitieiifo  niori  f 
We  don't  understaiid  that  sublime  sentence  whicii  some 
worthy  got  sculptured  on  his  gravestone  once.  We  'vo 
inters ;}  >te(j  ^t  in  a  grovelling  and  snivelling  sense; 
we've  wholly  forgorf-Mi  how  to  die. 

Bui  be  sure  you  do  die  nevertlieless.  Do  your  work, 
and  finish  it.  If  you  know  how  to  begin,  you  will  know 
when  to  end. 


,-.«.  ^ 


l'i«t: 


A  PLEA  FOR  CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


177 


so 
so 


n 


i 


Tlic?e  men,  in  teaching  us  how  to  die,  have  at  tlio 
same  time  taught  us  how  to  live.  If  this  man's  acts 
and  words  do  not  create  a  revival,  it  will  be  the  sever- 
est possible  satire  on  the  acts  and  words  that  do.  It 
is  the  best  news  that  Aniorica  has  ever  heard.  It  has 
already  quickened  the  feeble  })ulse  of  the  North,  and 
infused  more  and  more  generous  blood  into  her  veins 
and  heart,  than  any  number  of  years  of  what  is  called 
commercial  and  i)olitical  prosperity  could.  How  many 
a  man  who  was  lately  contemplating  suicide  has  now 
somethinij  to  live  for ! 

One  writer  says  that    Brown's    peculiar   monomania 
made  him  to  be  "dreaded  by  the  iMissourians  as  a  super 
natural  being."     Sure  enough,  a  hero  in  the  midst  of  us 
cowju'ds  is  always  so  dreaded.     He  is  just  that  thing. 
lie  shows  himself  superior  to  nature.     lie  has  a  sjjark 

of  divinity  in  him. 

"  Unless  ahovo  liimself  lie  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  tliiiij^  is  m:uil  " 

Newspaper  editors  argue  also  that  it  is  a  proof  of  his 
insaniftj  that  Ik;  thought  he  was  ai)pf)inted  to  do  this  work 
which  he  did,  —  that  he  did  not  suspect  himself  for  a 
moment !  They  talk  as  if  it  were  impossible  tliat  a 
man  could  be  "divinel}'  appointed"  in  these  days  to  do 
any  work  whatever;  as  if  vows  and  religion  were  out 
of  date  as  connected  with  an;y  man's  daily  work ;  as 
if  the  agent  to  abolish  slavery  could  only  be  somebody 
nppointtMl  by  the  President,  or  by  some  political  party. 
They  talk  as  if  a  man's  death  were  a  failure,  and  his 
continued  life,  be  it  of  whatever  character,  were  a 
success. 

When  I  reflect  to  what  a  cause  this  man  devoted  him- 
belf,  and  how  religiously,  and  then  nlleet  to  what  cause 


W^\ 


».>■ 


178 


A  I'LEA  FOU   CAPTAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


liis  judges  and  all  wlio  condemn  him  so  angrily  and 
fluently  devote  themselves,  I  see  that  they  are  as  far 
apart  as  the  heavens  and  earth  are  asunder. 

The  amount  of  it  is,  our  "  leading  men  "  arc  a  harm- 
less kind  of  folk,  and  they  know  well  enough  that  they 
were  not  divinely  appointed,  but  elected  by  the  votes  of 
their  party. 

Who  is  it  whose  safety  requires  that  Captain  Brown 
be  hung  ?  Is  it  iudis})ensable  to  any  Northern  man  ? 
Is  there  no  resource  but  to  cast  this  man  also  to  the 
Minotaur?  If  you  do  not  wish  it,  say  so  distinctly. 
While  these  things  are  being  done,  beauty  stands  veiled 
and  music  is  a  screeching  lie.  Think  of  him,  —  of  his 
rare  cpuilities !  —  such  a  man  as  it  takes  ages  to  make, 
and  ages  to  understand  ;  no  mock  hero,  nor  the  repre- 
sentative of  any  party.  A  man  such  as  the  sun  may 
not  rise  upon  again  in  this  benighted  land.  To  whose 
making  went  the  costliest  material,  the  finest  adamant ; 
sent  to  be  the  redeemer  of  those  in  captivity  ;  and  the 
only  use  to  which  you  can  put  him  is  to  hang  him  jit 
the  end  of  a  rope !  You  who  pretend  to  care  for 
Christ  crucified,  consider  what  you  are  about  to  do  to 
him  who  oifered  himself  to  be  the  savior  of  four 
millions  of  men. 

Any  man  knows  when  he  is  justified,  and  all  the  wits 
in  tiie  world  cannot  enlighten  him  on  that  jK)int.  The 
murderer  always  knows  that  he  is  justly  punished  ;  but 
when  a  government  takes  the  life  of  a  man  without  the 
consent  of  his  conscience,  it  is  an  \udacious  government, 
and  is  taking  a  step  towards  its  own  dissolution.  Is  it 
not  possible  that  an  individual  may  be  right  and  a  gov- 
ernuKMit  wrong  ?  Are  laws  to  be  enforced  simply  be- 
cause they  were  made  ?  or  declare«l  by  any  number  of 


A  PLEA  FOU  CAl'TAIN  JOHN  BROWN. 


171) 


men  to  be  good,  if  tlicy  are  not  good  ?  Ts  there  any 
necessit;'  lor  a  man's  being  a  tool  to  perform  a  deed  of 
which  his  better  nature  disapproves  ?  Is  it  the  inten- 
tion of  law-makers  that  «/ooc/  men  shall  be  hung  ever? 
Are  judges  to  interpret  the  law  according  to  the  letter, 
and  not  the  spirit  ?  What  right  have  yon  to  enter  into 
a  compact  with  yourself  that  you  will  do  thus  or  so, 
against  the  liglit  within  you  ?  Is  it  for  you  to  make  up 
your  mind, —  to  form  any  resolution  whatever,  —  and 
not  accept  the  convictions  that  are  forced  upon  you,  and 
which  ever  pass  your  understanding  ?  I  do  not  believe 
in  lawyers,  in  that  mode  of  attacking  or  defending  a 
man,  because  you  descend  to  meet  the  judge  on  his 
own  ground,  and,  in  cases  of  the  highest  importance,  it  is 
of  no  conse({uence  whether  a  man  breaks  a  human  law  or 
not.  Let  lawyers  decide  trivial  cases.  Business  men 
may  arrange  that  among  themselves.  If  they  were  the 
interpreters  of  the  everlasting  laws  which  rightfully  bind 
man,  that  would  be  another  thing.  A  counterfeiting 
law-factory,  standing  half  in  a  slave  land  and  half  in  a 
free  !  What  kind  of  laws  for  free  men  can  you  expect 
from  that  ? 

I  am  here  to  i)lead  his  cause  with  you.  I  plead  not 
for  his  life,  but  for  his  character,  —  his  immortal  life  ; 
and  so  it  becomes  your  cause  wholly,  and  is  not  his  in 
the  least.  Some  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  Christ  was 
cnicilied  ;  this  morning,  j)erchance.  Captain  lirown  was 
hung.  These  are  the  two  ends  of  a  chain  which  is  not 
without  its  links.  He  is  not  Old  l»rown  any  longer  ;  he 
is  an  angel  of  light. 

I  see  now  that  it  was  necessary  that  the  bravest  and 
humanest  man  in  all  the  country  should  be  hung.  Per- 
ha[»s  he  saw  it  himself.     I  almost  fear  that  1  nuiy  yet 


180 


A  PLKA   FOR   CAPTAIN    JOI'In   BKOWN. 


hear  of  his  deliverance,  doubting  if  a  prolonged  life,  if 
a>iy  life,  can  do  as  much  good  as  his  death. 

"  JNIisgiiided  "  !  "  Garrulous  "  !  "  Ins.ine  "  !  "  Vindic- 
tive "  !  So  ye  write  in  your  easy-chairs,  and  thus  he 
wounded  responds  from  the  floor  of  '.hi>  Armory,  clear  as 
a  cloudless  sky,  true  as  the  voice  of  nature  is  :  "  No 
man  sent  me  here ;  it  was  ray  own  promi)ting  and  that 
of  my  Maker.  I  acknowledge  no  master  in  human 
form." 

And  in  what  a  sweet  and  noble  strain  he  proceeds, 
addressing  his  captors,  who  stand  over  him  :  "  I  think, 
my  friends,  you  are  guilty  of  a  great  wrong  against  God 
and  humanity,  and  it  would  be  perfectly  right  for  any 
one  to  interfere  with  you  so  far  as  to  free  those  you  wil- 
fully and  wickedly  hold  in  bondage." 

And,  referring  to  his  movement :  "It  is,  in  my  oj)inion, 
the  greatest  service  a  man  can  render  to  God." 

"  1  pity  the  poor  in  bondage  that  have  none  to  help 
them  ;  that  is  why  I  am  here  ;  not  to  gratify  any  personal 
animosity,  revenge,  or  vindictive  spirit.  It  is  my  sym- 
pathy with  the  oppressed  and  the  wronged,  that  are  as 
good  as  you,  and  as  precious  in  the  sight  of  God." 

You  don't  know  your  testament  when  you  see  it. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  respect  the  rights  of 
the  poorest  and  weakest  of  colored  people,  oppressed  by 
the  slave  power,  just  a::^  much  as  I  do  those  of  the  most 
wealthy  and  powerful." 

"  I  wish  to  say,  furthermore,  that  you  had  better,  all 
you  peo[)le  at  the  South,  i)repare  yourselves  for  a  settle- 
ment of  that  question,  that  must  come  up  for  settlement 
sooner  than  you  are  prepared  for  it.  The  sooner  you 
are  prepared  the  better.  You  may  dispose  of  me  y^^vy 
easily.     I  am  nearly  disposed  of  now  ;  but  this  <piestion 


1 


; 


A  PLEA  rOU   CAriAlN  JOHN   liUUWN. 


181 


is  still  to  be  settled,  —  this  negro  question,  I  mean ;  the 
end  of  that  is  not  yet." 

I  foresee  tlie  time  when  the  painter  will  paint  that 
scene,  no  longer  going  to  l^jnio  for  a  subject ;  the  poet 
will  sing  it ;  the  historian  record  it  ;  and,  with  the  Land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrims  and  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
it  will  be  the  ornament  of  some  future  national  gallery, 
when  at  least  the  present  form  of  slavery  shall  be  no 
more  liere.  We  shall  th(m  be  at  liberty  to  weep  for 
Captain  Brown.     Then,  and  not  till  then,  we  will  take 


our  revenge. 


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II 

PARADISE   (TO   BE)   REGAINED.* 

["Democratic  Review,"  New  York,  November,  1843.] 


VW\] 


"VVe  learn  that  Mr.  Etzler  is  a  native  of  Germany, 
and  originally  published  his  book  in  Pennsylvania,  ten 
or  twelve  years  ago  ;  and  now  a  second  English  edition, 
from  tho  original  American  one,  is  demanded  by  his 
readers  across  the  water,  owing,  we  suppose,  to  the  re- 
cent spread  of  Fourier's  doctrines.  It  is  one  of  the  signs 
of  the  times.  AVe  confess  that  we  have  risen  from  read- 
ing this  book  with  enlarged  ideas,  and  grander  concep- 
tions of  our  duties  in  this  world.  It  did  expand  us  a 
little.  It  is  w^ortli  attending  to,  if  only  that  it  entertains 
large  questions.     Conside:  what  Mr.  Etzler  proposes: 

"  Fellow-men  !  I  promise  to  show  the  means  of  cre- 
ating a  paradise  within  ten  years,  where  everything  de- 
sirable for  human  life  may  be  had  by  every  man  in 
superabundance,  without  labor,  and  without  pay ;  where 
the  whole  face  of  nature  shall  be  changed  into  the  most 
beautiful  forms,  and  man  may  live  in  the  most  magnificent 
palaces,  in  all  imaginable  refinements  of  luxury,  and  in 
the  most  delightful  gardens  ;  where  he  may  accomplish, 
without  labor,  in  one  year,  more  than  hitherto  could  be 
done  in  thousands  of  years ;  may  level  mountains,  sink 

*  The  Paradise  within  the  Reach  of  all  Men,  without  Labor,  by 
Towers  of  Nature  and  Machinery.  An  Address  to  all  intelligent  Men. 
In  Two  Parts.  liy  J.  A.  Ktzler.  Part  Firet.  Second  English  Edi- 
tion.    London.     1842.     pp.  55. 


rARADISK    (TO   BF.)    KKGAINKD. 


183 


valleys,  create  lakes,  drain  lakes  and  swamps,  imd  in- 
tersect the  land  everywhere  with  beautiful  canals,  and 
roads  for  transporting  heavy  loads  of  many  thousand 
tons,  and  for  tra\elling  one  thousand  miles  in  twenty- 
four  hours  ;  may  cover  the  ocean  with  floating  islands 
movable  in  any  desired  direction  with  immense  power 
and  celerity,  in  perfect  security,  and  with  all  comforts 
and  luxuries,  bearing  gardens  and  palaces,  with  thou- 
sands of  families,  and  provided  with  rivulets  of  sweet 
water ;  may  explore  the  interior  of  the  globe,  and  travel 
from  pole  to  pole  in  a  fortnight;  provide  himself  with 
means,  unheard  of  yet,  for  increasing  his  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  so  his  intelligence ;  lead  a  life  of  con- 
tinual happiness,  of  enjoyments  yet  unknown ;  free 
himself  from  almost  all  the  evils  that  afllict  mankind, 
except  death,  and  even  put  death  far  beyond  the  common 
period  of  human  life,  and  finally  render  it  less  afllicting. 
Mankind  may  thus  live  in  and  enjoy  a  new  world,  far 
superior  to  the  present,  and  raise  theraselves  far  higher 
in  the  scale  of  beinijj." 

It  would  seem  from  this  and  various  indications  be- 
side, that  there  is  a  transcendentalism  in  mechanics  as 
well  as  in  ethics.  "While  the  whole  field  of  the  one 
reformer  lies  beyond  the  boundaries  of  space,  the  other 
is  pushing  his  schemes  for  the  elevation  of  the  race  to  its 
utmost  limits.  AVhile  one  scours  the  heavens,  the  other 
sweeps  the  earth.  One  ^ays  he  will  reform  himself,  and 
then  nature  and  cii-cumstances  will  be  right.  Let  us  not 
obstruct  ourselves,  for  that  is  the  greatest  friction.  It  is 
of  little  importance  though  a  cloud  obstruct  the  view  of 
the  astronomer  compared  with  his  own  blindness.  The 
other  will  reform  nature  and  circumstances,  and  then 
man  will  be  right.     Talk  no  more  vaguely,  says  he,  of 


V 


Ji: 


I 


li 

11 

184 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


reforming  the  world,  —  I  will  reform  the  globe  itself. 
"What  matters  it  whether  I  remove  this  humor  out  of  my 
flesh,  or  this  pestilent  humor  from  the  fleshy  part  of  the 
globe  ?  Nay,  is  not  the  latter  the  more  generous  course  ? 
At  present  the  globe  goes  with  a  shattered  constitution 
in  its  orbit.  lias  it  not  asthma,  and  ague,  and  fever, 
and  dropsy,  and  flatulence,  and  pleurisy,  and  is  it  not 
afllicted  with  vermin  ?  Has  it  not  its  healthful  laws 
counteracted,  and.  its  vital  energy  which  will  yet  redeem 
it  ?  No  doubt  the  simple  powers  of  nature,  properly 
directecf  by  man,  would  make  it  healtliy  and  a  paradise; 
as  the  laws  of  man's  own  constitution  but  wait  to  be 
obeyed,  to  restore  him  to  health  and  happiness.  Our 
panaceas  cure  but  few  ails,  our  general  hospitals  are 
private  and  exclusive.  We  must  set  up  another  Ilygeia 
than  is  now  worshipped.  Do  not  tlie  quacks  even  direct 
small  doses  for  children,  larger  for  adults,  and  larger  still 
for  oxen  and  horses  ?  Let  us  remember  that  we  are  to 
prescribe  for  the  globe  itself. 

This  fair  homestead  has  fallen  to  lis,  and  how  little 
have  we  done  to  improve  it,  how  little  have  we  cleared 
and  hedged  and  ditched  !  We  are  too  inclined  to  go 
hence  to  a  "  better  land,"  without  lifting  a  finger,  as  our 
farmers  are  moving  to  the  Ohio  soil ;  but  would  it  not  be 
more  heroic  and  faithful  to  till  and  redeem  this  New  Eng- 
land soil  of  the  world  ?  The  still  youthful  energies  of 
the  globe  have  only  to  be  directed  in  their  proper  chan- 
nel. Every  gazette  brings  accounts  of  the  untutored 
freaks  of  the  wind,  —  shipwrecks  and  hurricanes  which 
the  mariner  and  planter  accept  as  special  or  general 
providences  ;  but  they  touch  our  consciences,  they  remind 
us  of  our  sins.  Another  deluge  would  disii;race  mankind. 
We  confess  we  never  had  much  respect  for  tluit  an- 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


185 


teililiivian  race.  A  tliroughbred  business  man  cannot  en- 
ter heartily  upon  the  business  of  hte  without  first  look- 
ing into  his  account?.  IIow  many  things  are  now  at 
loose  ends.  "Who  knows  which  way  the  wind  will  blow 
to-morrow  ?  Let  us  not  succumb  to  nature.  "We  will 
marshal  the  clouds  and  restrain  tempests ;  we  will  bottle 
up  pestilent  exhalations  ;  wo  will  probe  for  earthquakes, 
grub  them,  up,  and  give  vent  to  the  dangerous  gas ;  we 
will  disembowel  the  volcano,  and  extract  its  poison,  take 
its  seed  out.  We  will  wash  water,  and  warm  fire,  and 
cool  ice,  and  underprop  the  earth.  "We  will  teach  birds 
to  fly,  and  fishes  to  swim,  and  ruminants  to  chew  the 
cud.     It  is  time  we  had  looked  into  these  things. 

And  it  becomes  the  moralist,  too,  to  inquire  what  man 
might  do  to  improve  and  beautify  the  system  ;  what  to 
make  the  stars  shine  more  brightly,  the  sun  more  cheery 
and  joyous,  the  moon  more  placid  and  content.  Could 
he  not  heighten  the  tints  of  flowers  and  the  melody  of 
birds?  Does  lie  perform  his  duty  to  the  inferior  races  ? 
Should  he  not  be  a  god  to  them  ?  What  is  the  part  of 
magnanimity  to  the  whale  and  the  beaver  ?  Should  we 
not  fear  to  exchange  places  with  them  for  a  day,  lest  by 
their  behavior  they  should  shame  us  ?  Might  we  not 
treat  with  magnanimity  the  shark  and  the  tiger,  not 
descend  to  meet  them  on  their  own  level,  with  spears  of 
sharks'  teeth  and  bucklers  of  timer's  skin?  We  slander 
the  hyena  ;  man  is  the  fiercest  and  cruellest  animal.  Ah  ! 
he  is  of  little  faith;  even  the  erring  comets  and  meteors 
would  thank  him,  and  return  his  kindness  in  their  kind. 
How  meanly  and  grossly  do  we  deal  with  nature  ! 
Could  we  not  have  a  less  gross  labor?  What  else  do 
these  fine  invenlitms  suggest,  —  magnetism,  the  da- 
guerreotype, electricity  ?     Can  we  not  do  more  than  cut 


I  :.i 


I 


186 


i  ^i 


PAKADISE   (TO  BE)    REGAINED. 


and  trim  the  forest,  —  can  we  not  assist  in  its  interior 
economy,  in  the  circuhition  of  the  sap  ?  Now  we  work 
superficially  and  violently.  We  do  not  suspect  how 
much  might  be  done  to  improve  our  relation  to  animated 
nature  even ;  what  kindness  and  refined  courtesy  there 
might  be. 

There  are  certain  pursuits  which,  if  not  wholly  poetic 
and  true,  do  at  least  suggest  a  nobler  and  finer  relation  to 
nature  than  we  know.  The  keeping  of  bees,  for  instance, 
is  a  very  slight  interference.  It  is  like  directing  the 
sunbeams.  All  nations,  from  the  remotest  antiquity, 
have  thus  fingered  nature.  There  are  Hymettus  and 
Ilybla,  and  how  many  bee-renowned  spots  beside  ? 
There  is  nothing  gross  in  the  idea  of  these  little  herds,  — 
their  hum  like  the  fiiintest  low  of  kine  in  the  meads.  A 
pleasant  reviewer  has  lately  reminded  us  that  in  some 
places  they  are  led  out  to  pasture  where  the  flowers  are 
most  abundant.  "  Columella  tells  us,"  says  he,  *'  that 
the  inhabitants  of  Arabia  sent  their  hives  into  Attica  to 
benefit  by  the  later-blowing  flowers."  Annually  are  the 
hives,  in  immense  pyramids,  carried  up  the  Nile  in  boats, 
and  suflTered  to  float  slowly  down  the  stream  by  night, 
resting  by  day,  as  the  flowers  put  forth  along  the  banks ; 
and  they  determine  the  richness  of  any  locality,  and  so 
the  profitableness  of  delay,  by  the  sinking  of  the  boat  in 
the  water.  We  are  told,  by  the  same  reviewer,  of  a 
man  in  Germany,  whose  bees  yielded  more  honey  than 
those  of  his  neighbors,  with  no  apparent  advantage  ;  but 
at  length  he  informed  them,  that  he  had  turned  his  hives 
one  degree  more  to  the  east,  and  so  his  bees,  having  two 
hours  the  start  in  the  morning,  got  the  first  sip  of  honey. 
True,  there  is  treachery  and  selfishness  behind  all  this  ; 
but  these  things  suggest  to  the  poetic  mind  what  might 
be  done. 


PARADISE   (TO   BE)    REGAINED. 


187 


Many  examples  there  are  of  a  grosser  interference, 
yet  not  without  their  apology.  AVc  saw  last  sunuuer, 
on  the  side  of  a  mountain,  a  dog  employed  to  churn  for 
a  farmer's  fatnily,  travelling  upon  a  horizontal  wheel, 
and  though  he  had  sore  eyes,  an  alarming  cough,  and 
withal  a  demure  a>pect,  yet  their  bread  did  get  buttered 
for  all  that.  Undoubtedly,  in  the  most  brilliant  successes, 
the  first  rank  is  always  sacrificed.  Much  useless  travel- 
ling of  horses,  in  extoiso,  has  of  late  years  been  improv- 
ed for  man's  behoof,  only  two  forces  being  taken  advan- 
tage of,  —  the  gravity  of  the  horse,  winch  is  the  centrip- 
etal, and  his  centrifugal  inclination  to  go  ahead.  Only 
these  two  elements  in  the  calculation.  And  is  not  tho 
creature's  whole  economy  better  economized  thus  ?  Aro 
not  all  finite  beings  better  pleased  with  motions  relative 
than  absolute  ?  And  what  is  the  great  globe  itself  but 
such  a  wheel,  —  a  larger  treadmill,  —  so  that  our  horse's 
freest  steps  over  prairies  are  oftentimes  balked  and  ren- 
dered of  no  avail  by  the  earth's  moti(Hi  on  its  axis  ?  But 
here  he  is  the  central  agent  and  motive-})ower ;  and,  for 
variety  of  scenery,  being  provided  with  a  window  in  front, 
do  not  the  ever-varying  activity  and  fluctuating  energy 
of  the  creature  himself  work  the  effect  of  the  most  varied 
scenery  Oii  a  country  road  ?  It  nuist  be  confessed  that 
horses  at  present  work  too  exclusively  for  men,  rarely  men 
for  horses ;  and  the  brute  degenerates  in  man's  society. 


It  will  be  seen  that  we  contemplate  a  time  when 
man's  will  shall  be  Liw  to  the  physical  worhl,  and  he 
shall  no  longer  be  deterred  by  such  abstractions  as  timo 
and  space,  height  and  de()th,  weight  and  hardness,  but 
ehall  indeed  be  the  lord  of  creation.  "  Well,"  says  tho 
faithless  reader,  "  '  life  is  short,  but  art  is  long ' ;  where 


1  t!| 


:i 


U\ 


IW 


188 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


is  the  power  that  will  effect  all  these  changes  ?  "  This 
it  is  the  very  ohject  of  Mr.  P^fzler's  volume  to  show.  At 
present,  he  would  merely  remind  us  that  there  are  in- 
numerahle  and  immeasurable  powers  already  existing  in 
nature,  unimproved  on  a  large  scale,  or  for  generous  and 
universal  ends,  amply  sufficient  for  these  purposes.  He 
would  only  indicate  their  existence,  as  a  surveyor  makes 
known  the  existence  of  a  water-power  on  any  stream  ; 
but  for  their  application  he  refers  us  to  a  sequel  to  this 
book,  called  the  "  Mechanical  System."  A  few  of  the 
most  obvious  and  familiar  of  these  powers  are,  the  Wind, 
the  Tide,  the  Waves,  the  Sunshine.  Let  us  consider 
their  value. 

First,  there  is  the  power  of  the  Wind,  constantly  ex- 
erted over  the  globe.  It  appears  from  observation  of  a 
sailing-vessel,  and  from  scientific  tables,  that  the  average 
power  of  the  wind  is  equal  to  that  of  one  horse  for  every 
one  hundred  square  feet.  We  do  not  attach  much  value 
to  this  statement  of  the  comparative  power  of  the  wind 
and  horse,  for  no  common  ground  is  mentioned  on  which 
they  can  be  compared.  Undoubtedly,  each  is  incomparably 
excellent  in  its  way,  and  every  general  comparison  made 
for  such  practical  purposes  as  are  contemplated,  which 
gives  a  preference  to  the  one,  must  be  made  with  some 
unfairness  to  the  other.  The  scientific  tables  are,  for  the 
most  part,  true  only  in  a  tabular  sense.  We  suspect 
that  a  loaded  wagon,  with  t\  light  sail,  ten  feet  square, 
would  not  have  been  blown  so  far  by  the  end  of  the 
year,  under  equal  circumstances,  as  a  common  racer  or 
di'ay  horse  would  have  drawn  it.  And  how  many  crazy 
structures  on  our  globe's  surface,  of  the  same  dimensions, 
would  wait  for  dry-rot  if  the  traces  of  one  horse  were 
hitched  to  them,  even  to  their  windward  side  ?     Plainly, 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


189 


this  is  not  the  principle  of  comparison.  But  even  the 
steady  and  constant  force  of  the  horse  may  be  rated  as 
equal  to  his  weight  at  least.  Yet  we  should  prefer  to 
let  the  zephyrs  and  gales  bear,  with  i\\\  their  weight, 
upon  our  fences,  than  that  Dobbin,  with  feet  braced, 
should  lean  ominously  against  them  for  a  season. 

Nevertheless,  here  is  an  almost  incalculable  power  at 
our  disposal,  yet  how  trifling  the  use  we  make  of  it.  It 
only  serves  to  turn  a  few  mills,  blow  a  few  vessels  across 
the  ocean,  and  a  few  trivial  ends  besides.  What  a  poor 
compliment  do  we  pay  to  our  indefatigable  and  energetic 
servant ! 

Men  having  discovered  the  power  of  falling  water, 
which,  after  all,  is  comparatively  slight,  how  eagerly  do 
they  seek  out  and  improve  these  privileges  ?  Let  a 
difference  of  but  a  few  feet  in  level  be  discovered  on  some 
stream  near  a  populous  town,  some  slight  occasion  for 
gravity  to  act,  and  the  whole  economy  of  the  neighbor- 
hood is  changed  at  once.  Men  do  indeed  speculate  about 
and  with  this  power  as  if  it  were  the  only  privilege.  But 
meanwhile  this  aerial  stream  is  falling  from  far  greater 
heights  with  more  constant  flow,  never  shrunk  by  drought, 
offering  mill-sites  wherever  the  wind  blows  ;  a  Niagara 
in  the  air,  with  no  Canada  side  ;  —  only  the  application 
is  hard. 

There  are  the  powers,  too,  of  the  Tide  and  Waves, 
constantly  ebbing  and  flowing,  lapsing  and  relapsing,  but 
they  serve  man  in  but  few  ways.  They  turn  a  few  tide- 
mills,  and  perform  a  few  other  insignificant  and  accidental 
services  only.  We  all  perceive  the  effect  of  the  tide  ; 
how  imperceptibly  it  creeps  up  into  our  harbors  and 
rivers,  and  raises  the  heaviest  navies  as  easily  as  the 
lightest  chip.     Everything  that  floats  must  yield  to  it. 


fill 


F  ill 


I  !! 


■'  1 


iiiliil 


190 


PARADISE   (TO  DK)   REGAINED. 


But  man,  slow  to  take  nature's  con.-tant  hint  of  assistance, 
makes  slight  and  irregular  use  of  this  power,  in  careen- 
ing ships  and  getting  them  afloat  when  aground. 

Til  is  power  may  be  applied  in  various  ways.  A  large 
body,  of  the  heaviest  materials  that  will  lloat,  may  first 
be  raised  by  it,  and  being  attached  to  the  end  of  a  bal- 
ance reaching  from  the  land,  or  from  a  stationary  sup- 
port, fastened  to  the  bottom,  when  the  tide  falls,  the 
whole  weight  will  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  end  of 
the  balance.  Also,  when  the  tide  rises,  it  may  be  made 
to  exert  a  nearly  equal  force  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. It  can  be  employed  wherever  a  point  d'appui  can 
be  obtained. 

Verily,  the  land  would  wear  a  busy  aspect  at  the 
spring  and  neap  tide,  and  these  island  ships,  these 
terrce  injirmce,  which  realize  the  fables  of  antiquity, 
affect  our  imagination.  We  have  often  thought  that 
the  fittest  locality  for  a  human  dwelling  was  on  the  edge 
of  the  land,  that  there  the  constant  lesson  and  impression 
of  the  sea  might  sink  deep  into  the  life  and  character 
of  the  landsman,  and  perhaps  impart  a  marine  tint  to 
his  imagination.  It  is  a  noble  word,  that  mariner,  — 
one  who  is  conversant  with  the  sea.  There  should  be 
more  of  what  it  signifies  in  each  of  us.  It  is  a  worthy 
country  to  belong  to,  —  we  look  to  see  him  not  disgrace 
it.  Perhaps  we  should  be  equally  mariners  and  ter- 
reners,  and  even  our  Green  Mountains  need  some  of 
that  sea-green  to  be  mixed  with  them. 

The  computation  of  the  power  of  the  Waves  is  less 
satisfactory.  While  only  the  average  power  of  the 
wind,  and  the  average  height  of  the  tide,  were  taken  be- 
fore, now  the  extreme  height  of  the  waves  is  used,  for 
they  are  made  to  rise  ten  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 


PARADISE   (TO  BK)   RKGAINKD. 


101 


to  wliicli,  adding  ten  more  for  tlopresslon,  we  have 
twcnly  foL't,  or  tlie  extremo  lieight  of  a  wavo.  Indeed, 
tlic  power  of  tlio  waves,  which  is  produced  by  the  wind 
blowing  oljliquely  and  at  disi.dvantage  upon  the  water, 
is  made  to  be,  not  only  tliree  tiiousand  times  greater 
than  that  of  the  tide,  but  one  hundred  times  greater  thau 
that  of  tlie  wind  itself,  meeting  its  object  at  right  an- 
gles. Moreover,  this  power  is  measured  by  tiie  area  of 
the  vessel,  and  not  by  its  length  mainly,  and  it  seems 
to  be  forgotten  that  the  motion  ol^the  waves  is  chiefly 
undulatory,  and  exerts  a  power  only  within  the  limits 
of  a  vibration,  else  the  very  continents,  with  their  ex- 
tensive coasts,  would  soon  be  set  adrift. 

Finally,  there  is  the  power  to  be  derived  from  Sun- 
shine, by  the  principle  on  which  Archimedes  contrived 
his  burning-mirrors,  a  multiplication  of  mirrors  reflect- 
ing the  rays  of  the  sun  upon  the  same  spot,  till  the 
requisite  degree  of  heat  is  obtained.  The  principal  a{)- 
plication  of  this  power  will  be  to  the  boiling  of  water  and 
production  of  steam.  So  much  for  these  few  and  more 
obvious  pow'ers,  already  used  to  a  trifling  extent,  liut 
there  are  innumerable  others  in  nature,  not  described 
nor  discovered.  The.:e,  however,  will  do  for  the  pres- 
ent. This  would  be  to  make  the  sun  and  the  moon 
equally  our  satellites.  For,  as  the  moon  is  the  cause 
of  the  tides,  and  the  sun  the  cause  of  the  wind,  which,  in 
turn,  is  the  cause  of  the  waves,  all  the  work  of  this 
planet  would  be  performed  by  these  far  influences. 

"  We  may  store  up  water  in  some  eminent  pond,  and 
take  out  of  this  store,  at  any  time,  as  much  water  through 
the  outlet  as  we  want  to  employ,  by  which  means  the 
original  power  may  react  for  many  days  after  it  has 
ceased Such  reservoirs  of  moderate  elevation  or 


IH 


»  u 


192 


PAIIADISE    (TO   BE)   REGAINED. 


iiijt!' 


'  ii 


!i 


i  I 
i  1 
1 1 


size  need  not  be  made  artilioially,  but  will  be  found 
made  by  nature  very  frecjuently,  requiring  but  little  aid 
for  their  coin[)lction.  Tliey  rei^uire  no  regularity  of 
for 


m. 


Any  valley,  with  lower  grounds  in  its  vieinity, 
would  answer  the  [)urpose.  Small  crevices  may  be 
filled  up.  Such  jdaces  may  be  eligible  for  the  begin- 
ning of  enterprises  of  this  kind." 

The  greater  the  height,  of  course,  the  less  water  re- 
quired. But  suppose  a  level  and  dry  country ;  then 
hill  and  valley,  and  ".eminent  pond,"  are  to  be  construct- 
ed by  main  force ;  or,  if  the  springs  ai'c  unusually  low, 
then  dirt  and  stones  may  be  used,  and  the  disadvan- 
tage arising  from  friction  will  be  counterbalanced  by 
their  greater  gravity.  Nor  shall  a  single  rood  of  dry 
land  be  sunk  in  such  artiticial  ponds  as  may  be  wanted, 
but  their  surfaces  "  may  be  covered  with  rafts  decked 
with  fertile  earth,  and  all  kinds  of  vegetables  which  may 
grow  there  as  well  as  anywhere  else." 

And,  finally,  by  the  use  of  thick  envelopes  retaining 
the  heat,  and  other  contrivances,  "  the  i)Ower  of  steam 
caused  by  sunshine  may  react  at  will,  and  thus  be  ren- 
dered perpetual,  no  matter  how  often  or  how  long  the 
sunshine  may  be  interrupted." 

Here  is  power  enough,  one  would  think,  to  accom- 
plish somewhat.  These  are  the  Powers  below.  O  ye 
millwrights,  ye  engineers,  ye  operatives  and  speculators 
of  every  class,  never  again  complain  of  a  want  of  power : 
it  is  the  grossest  form  of  infidelity.  The  question  is, 
not  how  we  shall  execute,  but  what.  Let  us  not  use  in 
a  niggardly  manner  what  is  thus  generously  offered. 

Consider  what  revolutions  are  to  be  effected  in  agri- 
culture. First,  in  the  new  country  a  machine  is  to  move 
jUong,  taking  out  trees  and  stones  to  any  required  depth, 


agn- 


PARADISE    (TO  BK)   REGAINED. 


193 


and  piliiiq  tlicin  up  in  convenient  heaps ;  then  the  same 
machine,  "■  with  a  little  alteration,"  is  to  phme  the  ground 
l)err(t'ctly,  till  tiiere  shall  be  no  hills  nor  valleys,  making 
the  requisite  canals,  ditches,  and  roads  as  it  g(jcs  along. 
The  same  machine,  "•  with  some  other  little  alterations," 
is  then  to  sift  the  ground  thoroilghly,  supjdy  fertile  soil 
i'rom  other  |)l,'ice3  if  wanted,  and  plant  it ;  and  linally 
the  same  machine,  "  with  a  little  addition,"  is  to  reap 
and  gather  in  the  crop,  thresh  and  grind  it,  or  press  it 
to  oil,  or  prepare  it  any  way  for  thial  use.  For  the  de- 
scription of  these  machines  we  are  referred  to  '•  Etzler's 
^reclianical  System,"  images  11  to  27.  "We  should  be 
l»leased  to  see  that  "Mechanical  System."  We  have 
great  faith  in  it.  But  we  cannot  stop  for  applications  now. 
Who  knows  but  by  accumulating  the  power  until  the 
end  of  the  present  century,  using  meanwhile  only  the 
smallest  allowance,  reserving  all  that  blows,  all  that 
shines,  all  that  ebbs  and  flows,  all  that  dashes,  we  may 
have  got  such  a  reserved  accumulated  power  as  to  run 
the  eartii  off  its  track  into  a  new  orbit,  some  summer, 
and  so  change  the  tedious  vicissitude  of  the  seasons? 
Or,  })erchance,  coming  generations  will  not  abide  the 
dissolution  of  the  globe,  but,  availing  themselves  of 
I'uture  inventions  in  aerial  loconjotion,  and  the  naviga- 
tion of  space,  the  entire  race  may  migrate  from  the 
earth,  to  settle  some  vacant  and  more  western  planet,  it 
may  be  still  healthy,  perchance  unearthy,  not  com[)osed 
of  dirt  and  stones,  whose  primary  strata  only  are  strewn, 
and  where  no  weeds  are  sown.  It  took  but  little  art,  a 
^imple  application  of  natural  laws,  a  canoe,  a  paddle, 
and  a  sail  of  malting,  to  people  the  isles  of  the  Pacilic, 
and  a  little  more  will  people  the  shining  isles  of  space. 
Do  we  not  see  in  the  firaiaraeut  the  lights  carried  along 
9  SI 


m 


n: 


-,  -t+ 


!!!i 


ill 


194 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


the  shore  by  ni^ht,  as  Columbus  did  ?  Let  us  not  de- 
spair nor  mutiny. 

"  The  dwellinL'-s  also  ought  to  be  very  different  from 
what  is  known,  ii'the  full  benefit  of  our  means  is  to  be  en- 
joyed. They  are  to  be  of  a  structure  for  which  we  have 
no  name  yet.  They  are  to  be  neither  palaces,  nor  tem- 
ples, nor  cities,  but  a  combination  of  all,  superior  to 
whatever  is  known. 

"  Earth  may  be  baked  into  bricks,  or  even  vitrified 
stone  by  heat,  —  we  may  bake  largj  masses  of  any  size 
and  form,  into  stone  and  vitrified  substance  of  the  great- 
est durability,  lasting  even  thousand  of  years,  out  of  clayey 
earth,  or  of  stones  ground  to  dust,  by  the  api)lication  of 
burning-mirrors.  This  is  to  be  done  in  the  open  air, 
without  other  preparation  than  gathering  the  substance, 
grinding  and  mixing  it  with  water  and  cement,  moulding 
or  casting  it,  and  bringing  the  focus  of  the  burning- 
mirrors  of  proper  size  upon  the  same." 

The  character  of  the  architecture  is  to  be  quite  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  ever  has  been  hitherto  ;  large  solid 
masses  are  to  be  baked  or  cast  in  one  })iece,  ready  sha[)ed 
in  any  form  that  may  be  desired.  The  building  may, 
therefore,  consist  of  columns  two  hundred  feet  high  and 
upwards,  of  proportionate  thickness,  and  of  one  entire 
piece  of  vitrified  substance  ;  huge  pieces  are  to  be  mould- 
ed so  as  to  join  and  hook  on  to  each  other  firmly,  by 
proper  joints  and  folds,  and  not  to  yield  in  any  way  with- 
out breaking. 

"Foundries,  of  any  description,  are  to  be  heated  by 
burning-mirrors,  and  wilt  require  no  labor,  except  the 
making  of  the  first  moulds  and  the  suj)crintendence  for 
gathering  the  metal  and  taking  the  finished  articles  away.' 

Alas !  in  the  present  state  of  science;  we  must  take  the 


I 

i4 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   KEGxUXED. 


195 


t  de- 

from 
»e  en- 
;  have 
tem- 
or  to 

trifled 
ly  size 
iirctit- 
clayey 
ion  of 
en  air, 
(Stance, 
oulding 
urning- 

lite  dif- 
re  solid 
shaped 
cr  may, 
tih  and 
3   entire 
|e  mould- 
mly,  by 
ay  witli- 

atcd  by 
cept  tlio 
lence  for 
l;s  away.' 
t  take  the 


finished  articles  awav ;  but  think  not  that  man  will  al- 
ways  be  the  victim  of  circumstances. 

The  countryman  who  visited  the  city,  and  found  the 
streets  cluttered  with  bricks  and  lumber,  reported  that 
it  was  not  yet  finished  ;  and  one  who  considers  the  end- 
less repairs  and  reforming  of  our  houses  might  well 
wonder  wlien  they  will  be  done.  But  why  may  not  the 
dwellings  of  men  on  tliis  earth  be  built,  once  for  all,  of 
some  durable  material,  some  Koman  or  Etruscan  ma- 
sonry, which  will  stand,  so  that  time  shall  only  adorn 
and  beautify  them  ?  Why  may  we  not  finish  the  out- 
ward world  for  posterity,  and  leave  them  leisure  to  at- 
tend to  the  inner  ?  Surely,  all  the  gross  necessities  and 
economies  might  be  cared  for  in  a  few  years.  All 
might  be  built  and  baked  and  stored  up,  during  this, 
the  term-time  of  the  world,  against  the  vacant  eternity, 
and  the  globe  go  provisioned  and  furnished,  like  our 
public  vessels,  for  its  voyage  through  space,  as  through 
some  Pacific  Ocean,  while  we  would  "  tie  up  the  rudder 
and  sleep  before  the  wind,"  as  those  who  sail  from  Lima 
to  Manilla. 

But,  to  go  back  a  few  years  in  imagination,  think 
not  that  life  in  the^e  crystal  palaces  is  to  bear  any  anal- 
ogy to  life  in  our  present  humble  cottages.  Far  from 
it.  Clothed,  once  for  all,  in  some  "  flexi])!e  stuff,"  more 
durable  than  George  Fox's  suit  of  leather,  composed  of 
"  fibres  of  vegetables,"  "  glutinated  "  together  ])y  some 
"cohesive  substances,"  and  made  into  sheets,  lilie  [)a- 
per,  of  any  size  or  form,  man  will  put  far  from  him 
corroding  care  and  the  whole  host  of  ills. 

"The  twenty-five  halls  in  the  inside  of  the  square 
are  to  be  eadi  two  hundred  feet  square  and  high ;  the 
forty  corridors,  each  one  hundred  feet  long  and  twenty 


'fill 

1 

H 

m 

■:'i 


196 


PARADISE   (to  be)   REGAINED. 


wide ;  the  eighty  galleries,  each  from  1,000  to  1,250 
feet  long ;  about  7,000  private  rooms,  the  whole  sur- 
rounded and  intersected  by  the  grandest  and  most  splen- 
did colonnades  imaginable  ;  floors,  ceilings,  columns,  with 
their  various  beautiful  and  fanciful  intervals,  all  shining, 
and  reflecting  to  infinity  all  objects  and  persons,  with 
splendid  lustre  of  all  beautiful  colors,  and  fanciful  shapes 
and  pictures. 

"  All  galleries,  outside  and  within  the  halls,  are  to  be 
provided  with  many  thousand  commodious  and  most  ele- 
gant vehicles,  in  which  persons  may  move  up  and  down 
like  birds,  in  perfect  security,  and  without  exertion. 
....  Any  member  may  procure  himself  all  the  common 
articles  of  his  daily  wants,  by  a  short  turn  of  some  crank, 
without  leaving  his  apartment. 

"  One  or  two  persons  are  sufficient  to  direct  the  kitch- 
en business.  They  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  super- 
intend the  cookery,  and  to  watch  the  time  of  the 
victuals  being  done,  and  then  to  remove  them,  with  the 
table  and  vessels,  into  the  dining-hall,  or  to  the  respec- 
tive privf  te  apartments,  by  a  slight  motion  of  the  hand 

at  some  crank Any  very  extraordinary  desire  of  any 

persoji  may  he  satisfied  by  going  to  the  place  where  the 
thing  is  to  be  had  ;  and  anything  that  requires  a  partic- 
ular preparation  in  cooking  or  baking  may  be  done  by 
the  person  who  desires  it." 

This  is  one  of  those  instances  in  which  the  individual 
genius  is  found  to  consent,  as  indeed  it  always  does,  at 
last,  with  the  universal.  This  last  sentence  has  a  cer- 
tain sad  and  sober  truth,  which  reminds  us  of  the  scrip- 
ture of  all  nations.  All  expression  of  truth  does  at 
length  take  this  deep  ethical  form.  Here  is  hint  of  a 
place  the  most  eligible  of  any  in  space,  and  of  a  servi- 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


197 


tor,  in  comparison  with  whom  all  other  helps  dwindle 
into  insignificance.  AVe  hope  to  hear  more  of  him  anon, 
for  even  a  Crystal  Palace  would  be  deficient  without  his 
invaluable  services. 

And  as  for  the  environs  of  the  establishment :  — 

"  There  will  be  afforded  the  most  enrapturing  views 
to  be  fancied,  out  of  the  private  apartments,  from  the 
galleries,  from  the  roof,  from  its  turrets  and  cupolas,  — 
gardens,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  full  of  fruits  and 
flowers,  arranged  in  the  most  beautiful  order,  with  walks, 
colonnades,  aqueducts,  canal;;,  ponds,  plains,  amphithea- 
tres, terraces,  fountains,  sculptural  works,  pavilions,  gon- 
dolas, places  for  public  amusement,  etc.,  to  delight  the 

eye  and  fancy,  the  taste  and  smell The  walks 

and  roads  are  to  be  paved  with  hard  vitrilied  large 
plates,  so  as  to  be  always  clean  from  all  dirt  in  any 
weather  or  season 

"  The  walks  may  be  covered  with  porticos  adorned 
with  magnificent  columns,  statues,  and  sculptural  works ; 
all  of  vitrified  substance,  and  lasting  forever.  At  night 
the  roof,  and  the  inside  and  outside  of  the  whole  square, 
are  illuminated  by  gas-light,  which,  in  the  mazes  of 
many-colored  crystal-like  colonnades  and  vaultings,  is 
reflected  with  a  brilliancy  that  gives  to  the  whole  a 
lustre   of  precious  stones,  as  far  as    the    eye    can    see. 

Such  are  the  future  abodes  of  men Such  is  the 

life  reserved  to  true  intelligence,  but  withheld  from  ig- 
norance, prejudice,  and  stupid  adherence  to  custom." 

Thus  is  Paradise  to  be  Regained,  and  that  old  and 
stern  decree  at  length  reversed.  INfan  shall  no  more 
earn  his  living  by  tlie  sweat  of  his  brow.  All  labor 
shall  be  reduced  to  "  a  short  turn  of  some  crank,"  and 
"taking  the  finished  articles  away."     But    there   is   a 


II 


198 


PARADISE   (TO   BE)   REGAINED. 


;!:i 


crank,  —  O,  Iiow  hard  to  bo  turned  !  Could  there  not 
be  a  crank  u[)on  a  crank,  —  an  infinitely  small  crank? 

—  we  would  fain  inquire.  No,  —  alas!  not.  But  there 
is  a  certain  divine  energy  in  every  man,  but  sparingly 
employed  as  yet,  which  may  be  called  the  crank  within, 

—  the  crank  after  all,  —  the  prime  mover  in  all  ma- 
chinery, —  quite  indispensable  to  all  work.  Would  that 
we  miglit  get  our  hands  on  its  handle !  In  fact,  no  work 
can  be  shirked.  It  may  be  postponed  indefinitely,  but 
not  infinitely.  Nor  can  any  really  important  work  be 
made  easier  by  co-operation  or  machinery.  Not  one 
particle  of  labor  now  threatening  any  man  can  be  routed 
without  being  performed.  It  cannot  be  hunted  out  of 
the  vicinity  like  jackals  and  hyenas.  It  will  not  run. 
You  may  begin  by  sawing  the  little  sticks,  or  you  may 
saw  the  great  sticks  first,  but  sooner  or  later  you  must 
saw  them  both. 

"We  will  not  be  imposed  upon  by  this  vast  application 
of  forces.  AVe  believe  that  most  things  will  have  to  be 
accomplished  still  by  the  application  called  Industry. 
We  are  rather  pleased  after  all  to  consider  the  small 
private,  but  both  constant  and  accumulated  force,  Avliich 
stands  behind  every  spade  in  the  field.  This  it  is  that 
makes  the  valleys  shine,  and  the  deserts  really  bloom. 
Sometimes,  we  confess,  we  are  so  degenerate  as  to  re- 
flect with  pleasure  on  the  days  when  men  were  yoked 
liked  cattle,  and  drew  a  crooked  stick  for  a  plough.  Af-* 
ter  all,  the  great  interests  and  methods  were  the  same. 

It  is  a  rather  serious  objection  to  Mr.  Etzler's  schemes, 
that  they  require  time,  men,  and  money,  three  very  su- 
perfluous and  inconvenient  things  for  an  honest  and 
well-disposed  man  to  deal  with.  "  The  whole  world,'* 
he  tells  us,  "  might  therefore  bo  really  changed  into  a 


PARADISE   (TO   BK)    UKGAKsED. 


199 


])aradise,  within  less  tlian  ten  years,  commencing  from 
tlie  first  year  of  an  association  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
structing and  applying  the  machinery."  We  are  sensi- 
ble of  a  startling  incongruity  when  time  and  money  are 
mentioned  in  this  connection.  The  ten  years  which  are 
proposed  would  bo  a  tedious  while  to  wait,  if  every  man 
were  at  his  post  and  did  his  duty,  but  quite  too  short  a 
period,  if  we  are  to  take  time  for  it.  l?ut  this  fault  is 
by  no  means  peculiar  to  Mr.  Etzler's  schemes.  There 
is  far  too  much  hurry  and  bustle,  and  too  little  patience 
and  privacy,  in  all  our  methods,  as  if  something  were  to 
be  accomplished  in  centuries.  The  tru(;  reformer  does 
not  want  time,  nor  money,  nor  co-operation,  nor  advice. 
What  is  time  but  the  stufT  delay  is  made  of?  And  de- 
pend upon  it,  our  virtue  will  not  live  on  the  interest  of 
our  money.  He  expects  no  income,  but  outgoes;  so 
soon  as  we  begin  to  count  the  cost,  the  cost  begins. 
And  as  for  advice,  the  information  floating  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  society  is  as  evanescent  and  unserviceable  to  him 
as  gossamer  for  clubs  of  Hercules.  There  is  absolutely 
no  common  sense ;  it  is  common  nonsense.  If  we  are 
to  risk  a  cent  or  a  drop  of  our  blood,  who  then  shall  advise 
us  ?  For  ourselves,  we  are  too  young  for  experience. 
Who  is  old  enough  ?  We  are  older  by  faith  than  by 
experience.  In  the  unbending  of  the  arm  to  do  the 
deed  there  is  experience  worth  all  the  maxims  in  the 
world. 

"  It  will  now  be  plainly  seen  that  the  execution  of 
the  proposals  is  not  proper  for  individuals.  Whether  it 
be  proper  for  government  at  this  time,  before  the  sub- 
ject has  become  popular,  is  a  question  to  be  decided ;  all 
that  is  to  be  done  is  to  step  forth,  after  mature  reflection, 
to  confess  loudly  one's  conviction,  and  to  constitute  bo- 


200 


PARADISE   (TO   BE)   REGAINED. 


i  I 


cieties.  Man  i.s  powerful  but  in  union  with  many. 
Nothing  great,  for  the  improvement  of  his  own  condi- 
tion, or  that  of  his  fellow-men,  can  ever  be  effected  by 
individual  enterprise." 

Alas  !  this  is  the  crying  sin  of  the  age,  this  want  of 
faith  in  the  prevalence  of  a  man.  Nothing  can  be  effect- 
ed but  by  one  man.  He  who  wants  help  wants  every- 
thing. True,  this  is  the  condition  of  our  weakness,  but 
it  can  never  be  the  means  of  our  recovery.  AVe  must 
first  succeed  alone,  that  we  may  enjoy  our  success  to- 
gether. We  trust  that  the  social  movements  which  we 
witness  indicate  an  aspiration  not  to  be  thus  cheai)ly 
satisfied.  In  this  matter  of  reforming  the  world,  we 
have  little  faith  in  corporations  ;  not  thus  was  it  first 
formed. 

But  our  author  is  wise  enough  to  say,  that  the  raw 
materials  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  purposes  are 
"  iron,  copper,  wood,  earth  chiefly,  and  a  union  of  men 
whose  eyes  and  understanding  are  not  shut  up  by  pre- 
conceptions." Ay,  this  last  may  be  what  we  want 
mainly,  —  a  company  of  "  odd  fellows  "  indeed. 

"  Small  shares  of  twenty  dollars  will  be  sulFicient,"  — 
in  all,  from  "  200,000  to  300,000,"  —  "  to  create  the  first 
establishment  for  a  whole  community  of  from  3,000  to 
4,000  individuals,"  —  at  the  end  of  five  years  we  shall 
have  a  principal  of  200  millions  of  dollars,  and  so  para- 
dise will  be  wholly  regained  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  year. 
But,  alas,  the  ten  years  have  already  elapsed,  and  there 
are  no  signs  of  Eden  yet,  for  want  of  the  requisite  funds 
to  begin  the  enterprise  in  a  hopeful  manner.  Yet  it 
seems  a  safe  investment.  Perchance  they  could  be  hired 
at  a  low  rate,  the  property  being  mortgaged  for  security, 
and,  if  necessary,  it  could  be  given  up  in  any  stage  of  the 
enterprise,  without  loss,  with  the  fixtures. 


TARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


201 


But  we  see  two  main  dliriculties  in  the  way.     First, 
the  successful  application  of  the  powers  by  machinery, 
(we  have  not  yet  seen  the  "  Mechanical  System,")   and, 
secondly,  whicli  is  infinitely  harder,  the  ajjplication  of 
man  to  the  work  by  faith.    This  it  is,  we  fear,  whicli  will 
prolong  the  ten  years  to  ten  thousand  at  least.     It  will 
take  a  power  more  than  "  80,000  times  greater  than  all 
the  men  on  earth  could  effect  with  their  nerves,"  to  })er- 
suade  men  to  use  that  which  is  already  offered  them. 
Even  a  greater  than  this  physical  power  must  be  brought 
to  bear  upon  that  moral  power.    Faith,  indeed,  is  all  the 
reform  that  is  needed  ;  it  is  itself  a  reform.     Doubtless, 
we  are  as  slow  to  conceive  of  Paradise  as  of  Heaven,  of 
a  perfect  natural  as  of  a  perfect  spiritual  world.     We 
see  how  past  ages  have  loitered  and  erred  ;  "  Is  perhaps 
our  generation  free  from  irrationality  and  error  ?     Have 
we  perhaps  reached  now  the  summit  of  human  wisdom, 
and  need  no  more  to  look  out  for  mental  or  physical  im- 
provement ?  "     Untloubtedly,  we  are  never  so  visionary 
as  to  be  prepared  for  what  the  next  hour  may   bring 

forth. 

MeXXet  TO  Oe'iov  8'  eori  toiovtou  (fivaei. 

The  Divine  is  about  to  be,  and  such  is  its  nature.  In 
our  wisest  moments  W(3  are  secreting  a  matter,  which, 
like  the  lime  of  the  shell-fish,  incrusts  us  quite  over,  and 
well  for  us  if,  like  it,  we  cast  our  shells  from  time  to 
time,  though  they  be  pearl  and  of  fair(;st  tint.  Let  us 
consider  under  what  disadvantages  Science  has  hitherto 
labored  before  we  pronounce  thus  confidently  on  her 
progress. 

Mr.  Etzler  is  not  one  of  the  enlightened  practical 
men,  the  pioneers  of  the  actual,  who  move  with  the  slow, 

deliberate  tread  of  science,  conserving  the  world ;  who 

•J* 


/ 


202 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)   REGAINED. 


execute  the  dreams  of  the  last  century,  though  they 
have  no  dreams  of  their  own  ;  yet  he  deals  in  the  very 
raw  but  still  solid  material  of  all  inventions.  He  has 
more  of  the  practical  than  usually  belongs  to  so  bold  a 
schemer,  so  resolute  a  dreamer.  Yet  his  success  is  in 
theory,  and  not  in  practice,  and  he  feeds  our  faith  rather 
than  contents  our  understanding.  His  book  wants  order, 
serenity,  dignity,  everything,  —  but  it  does  not  fail  to 
impart  what  only  man  can  impart  to  man  of  much  im- 
portance, his  own  faith.  It  is  true  his  dreams  are  not 
thrilling  nor  bright  enough,  and  he  leaves  off  to  dream 
where  he  who  dreams  just  before  the  dawn  begins.  His 
castles  in  the  air  fall  to  the  ground,  because  they  are  not 
built  lofty  enough  ;  they  should  be  secured  to  heaven's 
roof.  After  all,  the  theories  and  speculations  of  men 
concern  us  more  than  their  puny  accomplishment.  It  is 
with  a  certain  coldness  and  languor  that  we  loiter  about 
the  actual  and  so-called  practical.  How  little  do  the 
most  wonderful  inventions  of  modern  times  detain  us. 
They  insult  nature.  Every  machine,  or  particular  ap- 
plication, seems  a  slight  outrage  against  universal  laws. 
How  many  fine  inventions  are  there  which  do  not  clutter 
the  ground  ?  "We  think  that  those  only  succeed  which 
minister  to  our  sensible  and  animal  wants,  Avhich  bake  or 
brew,  wash  or  warm,  or  the  like.  But  are  those  of  no 
account  which  are  patented  by  fancy  and  imagination, 
and  succeed  so  admirably  in  our  dreams  that  they  give 
the  toue  still  to  our  waking  thoughts?  Already  nature 
is  serving  all  those  uses  which  science  slowly  derives  on 
a  much  higher  and  grander  scale  to  him  that  will  be 
served  by  her.  When  the  sunshine  falls  on  the  path  of 
the  poet,  he  enjoys  all  those  pure  benefits  and  pleasures 
which  the  arts  slowly  and  partially  realize  from  age  to 


PARADISE   (TO  BK)    REGAINED. 


203 


age.  The  winds  which  fan  his  cheek  waft  him  t!ie  sum 
of  that  profit  and  happiness  which  their  lagging  inven- 
tions supply. 

The  chief  fault  of  this  book  is,  that  it  aims  to  secure 
the  greatest  degree  of  gross  comfort  and  pleasure  merely. 
It  paints  a  Mahometan's  heaven,  and  stops  short  with 
singular  abruptness  when  we  think  it  is  drawing  near  to 
the  precincts  of  the  Christian's,  —  and  we  trust  we  have 
not  made  here  a  distinction  without  a  difference.  Un- 
doubtedly if  we  were  to  reform  this  outward  life  truly 
and  thoroughly,  we  should  find  no  duty  of  the  inner 
omitted.  It  would  be  employment  for  our  whole  nature ; 
and  what  we  should  do  thereafter  would  be  as  vain  a 
question  as  to  ask  the  bird  what  it  will  do  when  its  nest 
is  built  and  its  brood  reared.  But  a  moral  reform  must 
take  place  first,  and  then  the  necessity  of  the  other  will 
be  superseded,  and  we  shall  sail  and  plough  by  its  force 
alone.  Tliere  is  a  speedier  way  than  the  "  Mechanical 
System  "  can  show  to  fill  up  marshes,  to  drown  the  roar 
of  the  waves,  to  tame  hyenas,  secure  agreeable  environs, 
diversify  the  land,  and  refresh  it  with  "  rivulets  of  sweet 
water,"  and  that  is  by  the  power  of  rectitude  and  true 
behavior.  It  is  only  for  a  little  while,  only  occasionally, 
methinks,  that  we  want  a  garden.  Surely  a  good  man 
need  not  be  at  the  labor  to  level  a  hill  for  the  sake  of  a 
prospect,  or  raise  fruits  and  flowers,  and  construct  float- 
ing islands,  for  the  sake  of  a  paradise.  He  enjoys  better 
prospects  than  lie  behind  any  hill.  Where  an  angel 
travels  it  will  be  paradise  all  the  way,  but  where  Satan 
travels  it  will  be  burning  marl  and  cinders.  What  says 
Veeshnoo  Sarma  ?  "  He  whose  mind  is  at  ease  is  pos- 
sessed of  all  riches.  Is  it  not  the  same  to  one  whose 
foot  is  enclosed  in  a  shoe,  as  if  the  whole  surface  of  the 
earth  were  covered  with  leather  ?  " 


r 


204 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)    REGAINED. 


He  who  is  conversant  with  the  supernal  powers  will 
not  worship  these  inferior  deities  of  tiie  wind,   waves, 
tide,  and  sunshine.      But  we  would  not  disparage  -the 
importance  of  such  calculations  as  we  have  described. 
They  are  trutlis  in  physics,  because  they  are  true    in 
ethics.     The  moral  powers  no  one  would  presume  to  cal- 
culate.    Suppose  we  could  compare  the  moral  with  the 
physical,  and  say  how  many  horse-power  the  force  of 
love,  for  instance,  blowing  on  every  square  foot  of  a 
man's  soul,  would  equal.     No  doubt  we  are  well  aware 
of  this  force  ;  figures  would  not  increase  our  respect  for 
it ;  the  sunshine  is  equal  to  but  one  ray  of  its  heat.    The 
light  of  the  sun  is  but  the  shadow  of  love.     "  The  souls 
of  men  loving  and  fearing  God,"  says  Raleigh,  "  receive 
influence  from  that  divine  light  itself,  whereof  the  sun's 
clarity,  and  that  of  the  stars,  is  by  Plato  called  but  a 
shadow.     Lumen  est   umhra    Dei,  Deus  est  Lumen  Lu- 
minis.     Liglit  is  the  shadow  of  God's  brightness,  who  is 
the  light  of  light,"  and,  we  may  add,  the  heat  of  heat. 
Love  is  the  wind,  the  tide,  the  waves,  the  sunshine.     Its 
power  is  incalculable ;  it  is  many  horse-power.     It  never 
ceases,  it  never  slacks ;  it  can  move  the  globe  without  a 
resting-place ;  it  can  warm  without  fire ;  it  can  feed  with- 
out meat ;  it  can  clothe  without  garments  ;  it  can  shelter 
without  roof;  it  can  make  a  paradise  within  which  will 
dispense  with  a  paradise  without.  But  though  the  wisest 
men  in  all  ages  have  labored  to  publish  this  force,  and 
every  human  heart  is,  sooner  or  later,  more  or  less,  made 
to  feel  it,  yet  how  little  is  actually  applied  to  social  ends. 
True,  it  is  the  motive-power  of  all  successful  social  ma- 
chinery ;  but,  as  in  physics,  we  have  made  the  elements 
do  only  a  little  drudgery  for  us,  steam  to  take  the  place 
of  a  few  horses,  wind  of  a  few  oars,  water  of  a  few  cranks 


PARADISE   (TO  BE)    REGAINED. 


205 


and  hand-mills ;  as  the  mechanical  forces  have  not  yet 
been  generously  and  largely  applied  to  make  the  phys- 
ical world  answer  to  the  ideal,  so  the  power  of  love  has 
been  but  meanly  and  sparingly  applied,  as  yet.  It  has 
patented  only  such  machines  as  the  almshouse,  the  hos- 
pital, and  the  Bible  Society,  while  its  infinite  wind  is 
still  blowing,  and  blowing  down  these  very  structures 
too,  from  time  to  time.  Still  less  are  wo  accumulating 
its  power,  and  preparing  to  act  with  greater  energy  at 
a  future  time.  Shall  we  not  contribute  our  shares  to 
this  enterprise,  then  ? 


t 


HERALD    OF    FREEDOM.* 

[From  "The  Dial,"  Boston,  April,  1841.] 

We  had  occasionally,  for  several  years,  met  with  a 
number  of  this  spirited  journal,  edited,  as  abolitionists 
need  not  to  be  informed,  by  Nathaniel  P.  Rogers,  once  a 
counsellor  at  law  in  Plymouth,  still  farther  up  the  Mer- 
rimac,  but  now,  in  his  riper  years,  come  down  the  hills 
thus  far,  to  be  the  Herald  of  Freedom  to  these  parts. 
"We  had  been  refreshed  not  a  little  by  the  cheap  cordial 
of  his  editorials,  flowing  like  his  own  mountain-torrents, 
now  clear  and  sparkling,  now  foaming  and  gritty,  and 
always  spiced  with  the  essence  of  the  fir  and  the  Nor- 
way pine ;  but  never  dark  nor  muddy,  nor  threatening 
with  smothered  murmurs,  like  the  rivers  of  the  plain. 
The  effect  of  one  of  his  effusions  reminds  us  of  what 
the  hydropathists  say  about  the  electricity  in  fresh 
spring-water,  compared  with  that  which  has  stood  over 
night,  to  suit  weak  nerves.  We  do  not  know  of  another 
notable  and  public  instance  of  such  pure,  youthful,  and 
hearty  indignation  at  all  wrong.  The  Church  itself 
must  love  it,  if  it  have  any  heart,  though  he  is  said  to 
have  dealt  rudely  with  its  sanctity.  His  clean  attach- 
ment to  the  right,  however,  sanctions  the  severest  rebuke 
we  have  read. 

*  Herald  of  Freedom.     Published  weekly  by  the  New  Hampshire 
Auti-Slavery  Society,  Concord,  N.  U.,  Vol.  X.  No.  4. 


ni:i:ALi)  of  i'iM:i:r)0>r. 


207 


'Mr.  Rogers  seems  to  us  to  liavc  occupied  an  honor- 
ablo  and  manly  position  in  tliese  days,  nnd  in  tliis  coun- 
try, making  the  pres.s  a  living  and  breathing  organ  to 
ns'ich  the  hearts  of  men,  and  not  merely  "  fine  paper 
and  good  type,"  with  it3  civil  pilot  sitting  aft,  and  mag- 
iianimouslv  waitina;  for  the  news  to  arrive,  —  the  vehi- 
ele  of  the  earliest  news,  but  the  lafcst  inteJUf/ence^  —  re- 
cording the  indubitabh;  and  last  results,  the  marriages 
and  deaths,  alone.  This  editor  was  wide  awake,  and 
standing  on  the  beak  of  his  shi|»;  not  as  a  scientific  ex- 
plorer under  government,  but  a  Yankee  scaler  rather, 
who  makes  those  unexplored  continents  his  harbors  in 
which  to  refit  for  more  adventurous  cruises.  lie  was  a 
fund  of  news  and  freshness  in  himself,  —  bad  the  gift  of 
S[)ccch,  and  tlie  knack  of  writing  ;  and  if  anything  impor- 
tant took  ])lace  in  the  Granite  State,  we  might  be  sure 
that  we  should  hear  of  it  in  good  season.  No  other  pa- 
per that  w^e  know  kept  pace  so  well  witli  one  forward 
wave  of  the  restless  public  thought  and  sentiment  of 
New  England,  and  asserted  so  faithfully  and  ingenuous- 
ly the  largest  liberty  in  all  things.  There  was  beside 
more  unpledged  poetry  in  his  prose  than  in  the  verses 
of  many  an  acccjited  rhymer ;  and  we  were  occasionally 
advertised  by  a  mellow  hunter's  note  from  his  trumpet, 
that,  unlike  most  reformers,  bis  feet  were  still  where 
they  should  be,  on  the  turf,  and  that  he  looked  out  from 
a  serener  natural  life  into  the  turbid  arena  of  politics. 
Nor  was  slavery  always  a  sombre  theme  with  him,  but 
invested  with  the  colors  of  his  wit  and  fancy,  and  an 
evil  to  be  abolished  by  other  means  than  sorrow  and 
bitterne&s  of  complaint.  Ke  will  fight  this  fight  with 
what  cheer  may  be. 

But  to  speak  of  his  composiliou.    It  is  a  genuine  Yan- 


l'^!| 


-f+  c^ 


^Iliyiiii! 


208 


HERALD  OF  FREEDOM. 


*l! 


kee  style,  without  fiction,  —  real  guessing  and  calculat- 
ing to  some  purpose,  and  reminds  us  occasionally,  as 
does  all  free,  brave,  and  original  writing,  of  its  great 
master  in  these  days,  Thomas  Carljle.  It  has  a  life 
above  grammar,  and  a  meaning  which  need  not  be 
parsed  to  be  understood.  But  like  those  same  moun- 
tain-torrents, there  is  rather  too  much  slope  to  his  chan- 
nel, and  the  rainbow  sprays  and  evaporations  go  double- 
quick-time  to  heaven,  while  the  body  of  his  water  falls 
headlong  to  the  plain.  "We  would  have  more  pause  and 
deliberation,  occasionally,  if  only  to  bring  his  tide  to  a 
head,  —  more  frequent  expansions  of  the  stream,  —  still, 
bottomless,  mountain  tarns,  perchance  inland  seas,  and 
at  length  the  deep  ocean  itself. 

Some  extracts  will  show  in  what  sense  he  was  a  poet 
as  well  as  a  reformer.  He  thus  raises  the  anti-slavery 
"war-whoop"  in  New  Hampshire,  when  an  important 
convention  is  to  be  held,  sending  the  summons,  — 

"  To  none  but  the  whole-hearted,  fully-eomniittod,  cross- 

the-Rubicon   spirits From    rich    '  old    Cheshire,'   ironi 

Rockingham,  with  her  horizon  setting   down   away  to   the 

salt  sea from  where  the  sun  sets  behind  Kearsarge,  even 

to  where  he  rises  gloriously  over  Moses  N'orrls's  own  town  of 
Pittsjield,  —  and  from  Amoskeag  to  Ragged  iMouutains,  — ■ 
Coos  —  Upper  Coos,  home  of  the  everlasting  hills,  —  sentl  out 
your  bold  advocates  of  human  rights,  wherever  they  lay,  scat- 
tered by  lonely  lake,  or  Indian  stream,  or  '  Grant '  or  '  Loca- 
tion,' from  the  trout-haunted  brooks  of  the  Aniorisoo<''o-in. 
and  where  the  adventurous  streamlet  takes  up  its  mountain 
march  for  the  St.  Lawrence. 

"  Scattered  and  insulated  men,  wherever  the  lifht  of 
philanthropy  and  liberty  has  beaincd  in  upon  your  solitary 
spirits,  eonie  down  to  us  like  your  streams  and  clouds; 
and  our  own  Grafton,  all  about  among  your  dear  hills,  and 


HERALD   OF   FREEDOM. 


209 


your  inountain-nanked  vallev«,  —  wlicther  you  home  along 
the  swift  Ainmonoosuc'k,  the  culd  Poinigewassett,  or  the  ox- 
bowed  Connecticut 

''  We  arc  slow,  brethren,  dishonorably  slow,  in  a  cause 
like  ours.  Our  feet  should  be  as  '  hinds'  feet.'  '  Liberty 
lies  bleeding.'  The  leaden-colored  wing  of  slavery  obscures 
the  land  with  its  baleful  shadow.  Let  us  come  together,  and 
incjuire  at  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  wliat  is  to  be  done." 

And  again ;  on  oceiision  of  a  New  England  Conven- 
tion, in  the  Second-Advent  Tabernacle,  in  Boston,  he 
desires  to  try  one  more  blast,  as  it  were,  "  on  Fabyan's 
White  Mountain  horn." 

"  IIo,  then,  people  of  the  Bay  State,  —  men,  women,  and 
children ;  children,  women,  and  men,  scattered  friends  of 
X\\Q  friend U'S!<,  wheresoever  ye  inhabit,  —  if  habitations  ye 
have,  as  such  friends  have  not  always^  —  along  the  sea-beat 
border  of  Ohl  Essex  and  the  Puritan  Landing,  and  up  be- 
yond sight  of  the  sea-cloud,  among  the  inland  hills,  where  the 
sun  rises  and  sets  upon  the  dry  land,  in  that  vale  of  the  Connect- 
icut, too  fair  for  human  content  and  too  fertile  for  virtuous 
industry,  — whei-e  deepens  tlie  haughtiest  of  earth's  streams, 
on  its  seaward  way,  i)roud  with  the  i)ride  of  old  INIassachu- 
setts.  Are  there  any  friends  of  the  friendless  negro  haunt- 
ing such  a  valley  as  this  ?  In  God's  name,  I  fear  there  are 
none,  or  few;  for  the  very  scene  looks  apathy  and  oblivion  to 
the  genius  of  humanity.  I  blow  you  the  summons,  though. 
Come,  if  any  of  you  are  there. 

"  And  gallant  little  llhode  Island ;  transcendent  abolition- 
ists of  the  tiny  Conunonwealth.  I  need  not  call  you.  You 
are  called  the  year  round,  and,  instead  of  sleeping  in  your 
tents,  stand  harnessed,  and  with  trumpets  in  your  hands,  — 
ev(!ry  one  ! 

"  Connecticut !  yonder,  the  home  of  the  Burleighs,  the 
!Mo)U"oes,  and  the  lludsons,  and  the  native  land  of  old 
George  Benson !  are  you  ready  V     '  All  ready  ! ' 

"  Maine  here,  olf  cast,  looking  from  my  mountain  jjost  like 

H 


f* 


11; 


II-    ! 


h  ■;! 


?  I 


%M 


■J^^ 


•  ■*^'  ■ 


'V^* 


210 


HERALD   OF  FREEDOM. 


an  everglade.  "Whore  is  your  Sam.  Fesscnden,  ■who  stood 
storm-proof  'gainst  New  Organization  in  '38  ?  Has  he  too 
much  name  as  a  jurist  and  orator,  to  be  found  at  a  New 
EngLand  Convention  in  *43  ?  God  forbid.  Come  one  and 
all  of  you  from  '  Down  East '  to  Boston,  on  the  30th,  and  let 
the  sails  of  your  coasters  whiten  all  the  sea-road.  Alas ! 
there  are  scarce  enough  of  you  to  man  a  fishing  boat.  Come 
up  mighty  in  your  fewness." 

Such  timely,  pure,  and  unpremeditated  expressions  of 
a  public  sentiment,  such  publicity  of  genuine  indigna- 
tion and  humanity,  as  abound  everywhere  in  this  jour- 
nal, are  the  most  generous  gifts  which  a  man  can  make. 


n  M 


\ 


X 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS.* 

Thomas  Carlyle  is  a  Scotchman,  bom  about  fifty 
years  ago,  "  at  Ecclefeclian,  Annaiidale,"  according  to 
one  authority.  "  His  parents  '  good  farmer  people,'  his 
father  an  elder  in  the  Secession  church  there,  and  a  maa 
of  strong  native  sense,  whose  words  were  said  to  *  nail  a 
subject  to  the  wall.' "  We  also  hear  of  his  "  excellent 
mother,"  still  alive,  and  of  "  her  fine  old  covenanting 
accents,  concerting  with  his  transcendental  tones."  He 
seems  to  have  gone  to  school  at  Annan,  on  the  shore  of 
the  Solway  Frith,  and  there,  as  he  himself  writes, 
"heard  of  famed  professors,  of  high  matters  classical, 
mathematical,  a  whole  Wonderland  of  Knowledge," 
from  Edward  Irving,  then  a  young  man  "  fresh  from 
Edinburgh,  with  college  prizes,  ....  come  to  see  our 
schoolmaster,  who  had  also  been  his."  From  this  place, 
they  say,  you  can  look  over  into  Wordsworth's  country. 
Here  first  he  may  have  become  acquainted  with  Nature, 
with  woods,  such  as  are  there,  and  rivers  and  brooks, 
some  of  whose  names  we  have  heard,  and  the  last  lapses 
of  Atlantic  billows.  He  got  some  of  his  education,  too, 
more  or  less  liberal,  out  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
where,  according  to  the  samo  authority,  he  had  to  "sup- 
port himself,"  partly  by  "  private  tuition,  translations 
for  the  booksellers,  &c.,"  and  afterward,  as  we  are  glad 
to  hear,  "taught  an  academy  in  Dysart,  at  the  same 

*  Graham's  Magazine,  Philadelphia,  March,  1847. 


I  i' 
I 


212 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


time  that  Irving  was  teaching  in  Kirkaldy,"  the  usual 
middle  passage  of  a  literary  life.  He  was  destined  for 
the  Church,  but  not  by  tlie  powers  that  rule  man's  life ; 
made  liis  Hterary  debut  in  Fraser's  Magazine,  long  ago  ; 
read  here  and  there  in  English  and  French,  with  more 
or  less  profit,  we  may  suppose,  such  of  us  at  least  as  are 
not  particularly  informed,  and  at  length  found  some 
words  which  spoke  to  his  condition  in  the  German  lan- 
guage, and  set  himself  earnestly  to  unravel  that  mys- 
tery, —  with  what  success  many  readers  know. 

After  his  marriage  he  "  resided  partly  at  Comely 
Bank,  Edinburgh ;  and  for  a  year  or  two  at  Craigen- 
puttock,  a  wild  and  solitary  farm-house  in  the  upper 
part  of  Dumfriesshire,"  at  which  last  place,  amid  barren 
heather  hills,  he  was  visited  by  our  countryman,  Emer- 
son. With  Emerson  he  still  corresponds.  He  was 
early  intimate  with  Edward  Irving,  and  continued  to  be 
his  friend  until  the  latter's  death.  Concerning  this 
"  ft'eest,  brotherliest,  bravest  human  soul,"  and  Carlyle's 
relation  to  him,  those  whom  it  concerns  will  do  well  to 
consult  a  notice  of  his  death  in  Fraser's  Magazine  for 
1835,  reprinted  in  the  Miscellanies.  He  also  correspond- 
ed with  Goethe.  Latterly,  we  hear,  the  poet  Sterling 
was  his  only  intimate  acquaintance  in  England. 

He  has  spent  the  last  quarter  of  his  life  in  London, 
writing  books ;  has  the  fame,  as  all  readers  know,  of 
having  made  England  acquainted  with  Germany,  in  late 
years,  and  done  much  else  that  is  novel  and  remarkable 
in  literature.  He  especially  is  the  literary  man  of  those 
parts.  You  may  imagine  him  living  in  altogether  a 
retired  and  simple  way,  with  small  family,  in  a  quiet 
part  of  London,  called  Chelsea,  a  little  out  of  the  din  of 
commerce,  in  "  Cheyne  Row,"  there,  not  far  from  the 


■■■A.* 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND   HIS  WORKS. 


213 


Sf-. 


^^WrfL '% 


"  Chelsea  Hospital."  "  A  little  past  this,  and  an  old  ivy- 
clad  clmrcli,  with  its  buried  generations  lying  around  it," 
writes  one  traveller,  "  you  come  to  an  antique  street  run- 
ning at  right  angles  with  the  Thames,  and,  a  few  steps 
from  the  river,  you  find  Carlyle's  name  on  the  door." 
"  A  Scotch  lass  ushers  you  into  the  second  story  front 
chamber,  which  is  the  spacious  workshop  of  the  world 
maker."  Here  he  sits  a  long  time  together,  with  many 
books  and  papers  about  him  ;  many  new  books,  we  have 
been  told,  on  the  upper  shelves,  uncut,  with  the  "  author's 
respects  "  in  them  ;  in  late  months,  with  many  manu- 
scripts in  an  old  English  hand,  and  innumerable  pami)h- 
Icts,  from  the  public  libraries,  relating  to  the  Cromwellian 
period ;  now,  perhaps,  looking  out  into  the  street  on  brick 
and  pavement,  for  a  change,  and  now  upon  some  rod  of 
grass  ground  in  the  rear ;  or,  perchance,  he  steps  over  to 
the  British  INIuseum,  and  makes  that  his  studio  for  the 
time.  This  is  the  fore  part  of  the  day  ;  that  is  the  way 
with  literary  men  commonly ;  and  then  in  the  afternoon, 
we  presume,  he  takes  a  short  run  of  a  mile  or  so  through 
the  suburbs  out  into  the  country  ;  we  think  he  would  run 
that  way,  though  so  short  a  trip  might  not  take  him  to 
very  sylvan  or  rustic  places.  In  the  mean  while,  people 
are  calling  to  see  him,  from  various  quarters,  few  very 
worthy  of  being  seen  by  him ;  "  distinguished  travellers 
from  America,"  not  a  few  ;  to  all  and  sundry  of  whom  he 
gives  freely  of  his  yet  unwritten  rich  and  flashing  solilo- 
quy, in  exchange  for  whatever  they  may  have  to  offer ; 
speaking  his  English,  as  they  say,  with  a  "  broad  Scotch 
accent,"  talking,  to  their  astonishment  and  to  ours,  very 
much  as  he  writes,  a  sort  of  Carlylese,  his  discourse 
"  coming  to  its  climaxes,  ever  and  anon,  in  long,  deep, 
chest-shaking  bursts  of  laughter." 


'. 


|l         id 


liiPl 


214 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


He  goes  to  Scotland  sometimes,  to  visit  his  native 
heath-clad  hills,  having  some  interest  still  in  the  earth 
there  ;  such  names  as  Craigenputtock  and  Ecclefechan, 
which  we  have  already  quoted,  stand  for  habitable  places 
there  to  him ;  or  he  rides  to  the  seacoast  of  England  in 
his  vacations,  upon  his  horse  Yankee,  bought  by  the  sale 
of  his  books  here,  as  we  have  been  told. 

IIow,  after  all,  he  gets  his  living  ;  what  proportion  of 
his  daily  bread  he  earns  by  day-labor  or  job-work  with 
his  pen,  what  he  inherits,  what  steals,  —  questions  whose 
answers  are  so  significant,  and  not  to  be  omitted  in  his 
biography,  —  we,  alas  !  are  unable  to  answer  here.  It 
may  be  worth  the  while  to  state  that  he  is  not  a  Reform- 
er in  our  sense  of  the  term,  —  eats,  drinks,  and  sleeps, 
thinks  and  believes,  professes  and  practises,  not  accord- 
ing to  the  New  England  standard,  nor  to  the  Old 
English  wholly.  Nevertheless,  we  are  told  that  he  is 
a  sort  of  lion  in  certain  quarters  there,  "an  amicable 
centre  for  men  of  the  most  opposite  opinions,"  and 
"  listened  to  as  an  oracle,"  "  smoking  his  perpetual 
pipe." 

A  rather  tall,  gaunt  figure,  with  intent  face,  dark  hair 
and  complexion,  and  the  air  of  a  student ;  not  altogether 
well  in  body,  from  sitting  too  long  in  his  workhouse,  —  he, 
born  in  the  border  country  and  descended  from  moss- 
troopers, it  may  be.  We  have  seen  several  pictures  of 
him  here  ;  one,  a  full-length  portrait,  with  hat  and  overall, 
if  it  did  not  tell  us  much,  told  the  fewest  lies  ;  another, 
we  remember,  was  well  said  to  have  "too  combed  a 
look  "  ;  one  other  also  we  have  seen  in  which  we  discern 
some  features  of  the  man  we  are  thinking  of;  but  the 
only  ones  worth  rememberi'^.g,  cAm  all,  are  those  which 
he  has  unconsciously  drawn  of  himself. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS   WORKS. 


215 


When  we  remember  liow  these  volumes  came  over  to 
us,  with  their  eiic  luragement  and  provocation  from  month 
to  month,  and  -vhat  commotion  they  created  in  many 
private  breasts  we  wonder  that  the  country  did  not  ring, 
from  shore  tc  «liore,  from  the  Atldntic  to  the  Pacitic, 
with  its  g  ig  ;  and  the  Boones  and  Crockets  of  the 
West  make  haste  to  liail  hira,  whose  wide  humanity  em- 
braces them  too.  Of  all  that  the  j)ackets  have  brought 
over  to  us,  has  there  been  any  richer  cargo  than  this  ? 
What  else  has  been  English  news  for  so  long  a  season  ? 
What  else,  of  late  3'ears,  has  been  England  to  us,  —  to 
us  who  read  books,  we  mean  ?  Unless  we  remembered 
it  as  the  scene  where  the  age  of  Wordsworth  was  spend- 
ing itself,  and  a  few  younger  muses  were  trying  their 
wings,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  the  residence  of  Landor, 
Carlyle  alone,  since  the  death  of  Coleridge,  has  kept  the 
promise  of  England.  It  is  the  best  apology  for  all  the 
bustle  and  the  sin  of  commerce,  that  it  has  made  us  ac- 
quainted with  the  thoughts  of  this  man.  Commerce 
would  not  concern  us  much  if  it  were  not  for  such  results 
as  this.  New  England  owes  hira  a  debt  which  she  will 
be  slow  to  recognize.  His  earlier  essays  reached  us  at  a 
time  when  Coleridge's  were  the  only  recent  words  which 
had  made  any  notable  impression  so  far,  and  they  found 
a  field  unoccupied  by  him,  before  yet  any  words  of  mo- 
ment had  een  uttered  in  our  midst.  He  had  this  ad- 
vantage, too.  in  a  teacher,  that  he  stood  near  to  his  pu})ils ; 
and  he  has  no  doubt  afforded  reasonable  encouragement 
and  sympathy  to  many  an  independent  but  solitary 
thinker. 

It  is  remarkable,  but  on  the  whole,  perhaps,  not  to  be 
lamented,  that  the  world  is  so  unkind  to  a  new  book. 
Any  distinguished  traveller  who  comes  to  our  shores  is 


■m  .i 


216 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


likely  to  get  more  dinners  and  speeches  of  welcome  than 
he  can  well  dispose  of,  but  the  best  book.^,  if  noticed  at 
all,  meet  with  coldness  and  suspicion,  or,  what  is  worse, 
gratuitous,  off-hand  criticism.  It  is  plain  that  the  re- 
viewers, both  here?  and  abroad,  do  not  know  how  to 
dispose  of  this  man.  They  approach  him  too  easily,  as 
if  he  were  one  of  the  men  of  letters  about  town,  who 
grace  Mr.  Somebody's  administration,  merely  ;  but  he 
already  belongs  to  literature,  and  depends  neither  on  the 
favor  of  reviewers,  nor  the  honesty  of  booksellers,  nor 
the  pleasure  of  readers  for  his  success.  He  has  more  to 
impart  than  to  receive  from  his  generation.  He  is  an- 
other such  a  strong  and  finished  workman  in  his  craft  as 
Samuel  Johnson  was,  and,  like  him,  makes  the  literary 
class  respectable.  Since  few  are  yet  out  of  their  appren- 
ticeship, or,  even  if  they  learn  to  be  able  writers,  are  at 
the  same  time  able  and  valuable  thinkers.  The  aged 
and  critical  eye,  especially,  is  incapacitated  to  appreciate 
the  works  of  this  author.  To  such  their  meaning  is  im- 
palpable and  evanescent,  and  they  seem  to  abound  only 
in  obstinate  mannerisms,  Germanisms,  and  whimsical 
ravings  of  all  kinds,  with  now  and  then  an  unaccountably 
true  and  sensible  remark.  On  the  strength  of  this  last, 
Carlyle  is  admitted  to  have  what  is  called  genius.  "We 
hardly  know  an  old  man  to  whom  these  volumes  are  not 
hopelessly  sealed.  The  language,  they  say,  is  foolish- 
ness and  a  stumbling-block  to  them  ;  but  to  many  a  clear- 
headed boy,  they  are  plainest  English,  and  despatched 
with  such  hasty  relish  as  his  bread  and  milk.  The  fa- 
thers wonder  how  it  is  that  the  chihlren  take  to  this  diet 
BO  readily,  and  digest  it  with  so  little  diiRcnlty.  They 
shake  their  heads  with  mistrust  at  their  free  and  easy 
delight,  and  remark  that  "  Mr.  Carlyle  is  a  very  learned 


THOilAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


217 


man " ;  for  they,  too,  not  to  be  out  of  fa>liion,  have  got 
grammar  and  dictionary,  if  the  truth  were  known,  and 
with  the  best  faith  cudgelled  the'  drains  to  get  a  Httlo 
way  into  the  jungle,  and  they  could  not  but  confess,  as 
often  as  they  found  the  clew,  that  it  was  as  intricate  as 
Blackstone  to  follow,  if  you  read  it  honestly.  But 
merely  reading,  even  with  the  best  intentions,  is  not 
enough :  you  must  almost  have  written  these  books  your- 
self. Only  he  who  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  read 
them  in  the  nick  of  time,  in  the  most  perceptive  and 
recipient  season  of  life,  can  give  any  adequate  account 
of  them. 

IMany  have  tasted  of  this  well  with  an  odd  suspicion, 
as  if  it  were  some  fountain  Arethuse  which  had  flowed 
under  the  sea  from  Germany,  as  if  the  materials  of  his 
books  had  lain  in  some  garret  there,  in  danger  of  be- 
ing appropriated  for  waste-papc'r.  Over  what  Gerraaa 
ocean,  from  what  Ilercynian  forest,  he  has  been  import- 
ed, piecemeal,  into  England,  or  whether  he  has  now  all 
arrived,  we  are  not  informed.  This  article  is  not  in- 
voiced in  Hamburg  nor  in  London.  Perhaps  it  was 
contraband.  However,  we  suspect  that  this  sort  of  goods 
cannot  be  imported  in  this  way.  No  matter  how  skilful 
the  stevedore,  all  things  being  got  into  sailing  trim,  wait 
for  a  Sunday,  and  aft  wind,  and  then  weigh  anchor,  and 
run  up  the  main-sheet,  —  straightway  what  of  transcend- 
ent and  permanent  value  is  there  resists  the  aft  wind, 
and  will  doggedly  stay  behind  that  Sunday,  —  it  does  not 
travel  Sundays  ;  while  biscuit  and  pork  make  headway, 
and  sailors  cry  heave-yo  !  It  must  part  company,  if  it 
open  a  seam.  It  is  not  quite  safe  to  send  out  a  venture 
in  this  kind,  unless  yourself  go  supercargo.  Where  a 
man  goes,  there  he  is  ;  but  the  slightest  virtue  is  immov- 
10 


ji  -;-^ 


I 


■i^^td 


218 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


OTIB! 


able,  —  it  is  real  estate,  not  personal ;  who  would  keep  it, 
must  consent  to  be  bought  and  sold  with  it. 

However,  we  need  not  dwell  oi.  this  charge  of  a  Ger- 
man extraction,  it  being  generally  admitted,  by  this  time, 
that  Carlyle  is  English,  and  au  inhabitant  of  London. 
He  has  the  English  for  his  mother-tongue,  though  with 
a  Scotch  accent,  or  never  so  many  accents,  and  thoughts 
also,  which  are  the  legitimate  growth  of  native  soil,  to 
utter  therewith.  His  style  is  eminently  colloquial,  and 
no  wonder  it  is  strange  to  meet  with  in  a  book.  It  is 
not  litemry  or  classical ;  it  has  not  the  music  of  poetry, 
nor  the  pomp  of  philosophy,  but  the  rhythms  and  cadences 
of  conversation  endlessly  repeated.  It  resounds  with 
emphatic,  natural,  lively,  stirring  tones,  muttering,  rat- 
tling, exploding,  like  shells  and  shot,  and  with  like  exe- 
cution. So  far  as  it  is  a  merit  in  composition,  that  the 
written  answer  to  the  spoken  word,  and  the  spoken  word 
to  a  fresh  and  pertinent  thou^xht  in  the  mind,  as  well  as 
to  the  half  thoughts,  the  tumultuary  misgivings  and  ex- 
pectancies, this  aut'i  >r  is,  perhaps,  not  to  be  matched  in 
literature. 

He  is  no  mystic,  either,  more  than  Newton  or  Ark- 
wright  or  Davy,  and  tolerate'?  none.  Not  one  obscure 
line,  or  half  line,  did  he  ever  write.  His  meaning  lies 
plain  as  the  daylight,  and  he  who  runs  may  read ;  in- 
deed, only  he  who  runs  can  read,  and  keep  up  with  the 
meaning.  It  has  the  distinctness  of  picture  to  his  mind, 
and  he  tells  us  only  what  he  sees  printed  in  largest  Eng- 
lish type  upon  the  face  of  things.  He  utters  substantial 
English  thoughts  in  plainest  English  dialects ;  for  it 
must  be  confessed,  he  speaks  more  than  one  of  these. 
AU  the  shires  of  England,  and  all  the  shires  of  Europe, 
are  laid  under  contribution  to  his  genius ;  for  to  be  Eng- 


THOMAS  CARLYLi:    A 


H    ^    W 


:s. 


219 


eep  it, 

iGer- 

s  time, 
london. 
h  with 

lOUglltS 

soil,  to 
ial,  tuiil 
,     It  is 
poetry, 
adences 
ds  with 
no;,  rat- 
ke  exe- 
that  the 
:en  word 
well  as 
and  ex- 
tched  ill 

or  Ark- 
I  obscure 

ng  lies 
read;  in- 
with  tlie 
lis  mind, 
rest  Eng- 
iibstantial 

;    for  it 

of  these. 

■  Europe, 

D  be  Eng- 


lish does  not  mean  to  be  exclusive  aiiu  narro  wid 
adapt  one's  self  to  the  apprehension  of  his  ncanv-  .igh- 
bor  only.  And  yet  no  writer  is  more  tliorouglilv  >axon. 
In  the  translation  of  tliose  fragments  of  Saxon  [,<>>  y, 
we  have  met  with  the  same  rhvthm  that  occurs  so  often 
in  his  poem  on  the  Frencli  Revolution.  And  if  you 
would  know  where  many  of  those  obnoxious  Carlylcisms 
and  Germanisms  came  from,  read  the  best  of  INIilton's 
prose,  read  those  speeches  of  Cromwell  which  he  has 
brought  to  light,  or  go  and  listen  once  more  to  your 
mother's  tongue.     So  much  for  his  German  extraction. 

Indeed,  for  fluency  and  skill  in  the  use  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue,  he  is  a  master  unrivalled.  His  felicity 
and  power  of  expression  surpass  even  his  special  mer- 
its as  historian  and  critic.  Therein  liis  experience  has 
not  failed  him,  but  furnished  him  with  such  a  store  of 
winged,  ay  and  legged  words,  as  only  a  London  life, 
perchance,  could  give  account  of.  We  had  not  under- 
stood the  wealth  of  the  language  before.  Nature  is  ran- 
sacked, and  all  the  resorts  and  purlieus  of  humanity  are 
taxed,  to  furnish  the  fittest  symbol  for  his  thought.  lie 
does  not  go  to  the  dictionary,  the  word-book,  but  to  the 
word-manufactory  itself,  and  has  made  endless  work 
for  the  lexicographers.  Yes,  he  has  that  same  English 
for  his  mother-tongue  that  you  have,  but  with  him  it  is 
no  dumb,  muttering,  mumbling  faculty,  concealing  the 
thoughts,  but  a  keen,  unwearied,  resistless  weapon.  lie 
has  such  command  of  it  as  neither  you  nor  I  have  ;  and 
it  would  be  well  for  any  who  have  a  lost  horse  to  adver- 
tise, or  a  town-meeting  wan-ant,  or  a  sermon,  or  a  letter 
to  write,  to  study  this  universal  letter-writer,  for  ho 
knows  more  than  the  grammar  or  the  dictionary. 

The  style  is  worth  attending  to,  as  one  of  the  most  im- 


1  m 


tiiil 


IH 


220 


THOMAS  CAHLYLE  AXD  HIS  WORKS. 


portant  features  of  the  man  which  we  at  this  dlstanco 
can  discern.  It  is  for  once  quite  equal  to  the  matter. 
It  can  carry  all  its  load,  and  never  breaks  down  nor  stag- 
gers. Ills  books  are  solid  and  workmanlike,  as  all  that 
England  docs  ;  and  they  are  graceful  and  readable  also. 
They  tell  of  huge  labor  done,  well  done,  and  all  the  rub- 
bish swept  away,  like  the  bright  cutlery  which  glitters 
in  shop  windows,  while  the  coke  and  ashes,  the  turnings, 
fdings,  dust,  and  borings  lie  far  away  at  Birmingham, 
unheard  of.  He  is  a  masterly  clerk,  scribe,  reporter, 
writer.  He  can  reduce  to  writing  most  things,  —  ges- 
tures, winks,  nods,  significant  looks,  patois,  brogue,  ac- 
cent, pantomime,  and  how  much  that  had  passed  for  si- 
lence before,  does  he  represent  by  written  words.  The 
countryman  who  puzzled  the  city  lawj'cr,  requiring  him 
to  write,  among  other  things,  his  call  to  his  horses,  would 
hardly  have  puzzled  him  ;  he  would  have  found  a  word 
for  it,  all  right  and  classical,  that  would  have  started  his 
team  for  him.  Consider  the  ceaseless  tide  of  speech  for- 
ever flowing  in  coinitless  cellars,  garre(s,  parlors;  that 
of  the  French,  says  Carlyle,  "  only  ebbs  toward  the  short 
hours  of  night,"  and  what  a  drop  in  the  bucket  is  the 
printed  word.  Feeling,  thought,  speech,  writing,  and, 
we  might  add,  poetry,  ins[)iration,  —  for  so  the  circle  is 
completed  ;  how  they  gradually  dwindle  at  length,  pass- 
ing through  successive  colanders,  into  your  history  and 
classics,  from  the  roar  of  the  ocean,  the  murmur  of  the 
forest,  to  the  squeak  of  a  mouse  ;  so  much  only  parsed 
and  spelt  out,  and  punctuated,  at  last.  The  few  who 
can  talk  like  a  book,  they  only  get  reported  commonly. 
But  this  writer  reports  a  new  "  Lieferung." 

One  wonders  how  so  much,  after  all,  was  expressed  in 
the  old  way,  so  much  here  depends  upon  the  emphasis. 


THOMAS   CAPiLYLE  AND   HIS  WORKS. 


221 


tone,  pronunciation,  style,  and  spirit  of  the  reading.  No 
writer  uses  so  profusely  all  the  aids  to  intelligibility 
which  the  printer's  art  affords.  You  wonder  how  oih('i-3 
had  contrived  to  write  so  miuiy  pages  without  cni[)hatic 
or  italicized  words,  they  are  so  expressive,  so  natural,  so 
indispensable  here,  as  if  none  had  ever  used  the  demon- 
strative pronouns  demonstratively  before.  In  another's 
sentences  the  thought,  though  it  may  be  inimortal,  is  as 
it  were  embalmed,  and  does  not  strike  you,  but  here  it  is 
so  freshly  living,  even  the  body  of  it  not  having  passed 
through  the  ordeal  of  death,  that  it  stirs  in  the  very  ex- 
tremities, and  the  smalle-t  particles  and  pronouns  are  all 
alive  with  it.  It  is  not  simple  dictionary  iV,  yours  or 
mine,  but  it.  The  words  did  not  come  at  tlie  command 
of  grammar,  but  of  a  tyrannous,  inexorable  meaning;  not 
like  standing  soldiers,  by  vote  of  Parliament,  but  any  able- 
bodied  countryman  pressed  into  the  service,  for  "  Sire,  it 
is  not  a  revolt,  it  is  a  revolution." 

We  have  never  heard  him  speak,  but  we  should  say 
that  Carlyle  was  a  rare  talker.  He  has  broken  the  ice, 
and  streams  freely  forth  like  a  spring  torrent.  He  does 
not  trace  back  the  stream  of  his  thought,  silently  adven- 
turous, up  to  its  fountain-head,  but  is  borne  away  with 
it,  as  it  rushes  through  his  brain  like  a  torrent  to  over- 
whelm and  fertilize.  He  holds  a  talk  with  you.  His 
audience  is  such  a  tumultuous  mob  of  thirty  thousand,  as 
assembled  at  the  University  of  Paris,  before  printing 
was  invented.  Philosophy,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not 
talk,  but  write,  or,  when  it  comes  personally  before  an 
audience,  lecture  or  read  ;  and  therefore  it  must  be  n-ad 
to-morrow,  or  a  thousand  years  hence.  But  the  talker 
must  nr.turally  be  attended  to  at  once ;  he  does  not  talk 
on  without  an  audience  ;  the  winds  do  not  long  bear  the 


L         I 

! 


it   !l 


it     11  iBlI'V-til 


222 


THOMAS   CARLYLE   AND   HIS   WORKS. 


sound  of  liis  voice.  Think  of  Cnrlyle  rctuling  liis  French 
Revolution  to  any  audience.  One  mij^lit  say  it  was 
never  written,  but  spoken  ;  and  thereafter  reported  and 
printed,  tiiat  tliose  not  within  sound  of  his  voice  mii^lit 
know  somethinL^  about  it.  Some  men  read  to  you  some- 
thing which  they  have  written  in  a  dead  language,  of 
course,  but  it  may  be  in  a  living  letter,  in  a  Syriac,  or 
Roman,  or  Runic  cliaracter.  I\Ien  must  speak  English 
who  can  KU'ite  Sanscrit ;  they  must  speak  a  modern 
language  wlio  write,  perchance,  an  ancient  and  universal 
one.  AVe  do  not  live  in  those  days  when  the  learned 
used  a  learned  laniruaiie.  There  is  no  writincj  of  Latin 
with  Carlyle ;  but  as  Chaucer,  witli  all  reverence  to 
Homer,  and  Virgil,  and  Messieurs  the  Normans,  sung 
his  poetry  in  the  homely  Saxon  tongue?,  —  and  Locke  has 
at  least  the  merit  of  having  done  philosophy  into  Eng- 
lish, —  so  Carlyle  has  done  a  difierent  philosophy  still  fur- 
ther into  English,  and  thrown  open  the  doors  of  litera- 
ture and  criticism  to  the  poj)ulace. 

Such  a  style,  —  so  diver.-ilied  and  variegated!  It  is 
like  the  face  of  a  country  ;  it  is  like  a  New  England 
land»;cape,  with  farm-houses  and  villages,  and  cultivated 
spots,  and  belts  of  forests  and  blueberry-swamps  round 
about,  with  the  fragrance  of  shad-blossoms  and  violets 
on  certain  wiuds.  And  as  for  the  reading  of  it,  it  is  nov- 
el enough  to  the  reader  who  has  used  only  the  diligence, 
and  old  line  mail-coach.  It  is  like  travelliuix,  sometimes 
on  foot,  sometimes  in  a  gig  t;mdem  ;  sometimes  in  a  full 
coach,  over  highways,  mended  and  unmended,  for  which 
you  will  prosecute  the  town  ;  on  level  roads,  through 
French  departments,  by  Simplon  roads  over  the  Al{)s, 
and  now  and  then  he  hauls  up  for  a  relay,  rnd  yokes  in 
an  unbroken  colt  of  a  Pegasus  for  a  leader,  driving  olf 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AXD   HIS  WORKS. 


223 


by  cart-paths,  and  across  lots,  by  corduroy  roads  and 
gridiron  bridges ;  and  where  the  bridges  are  gone,  not 
even  a  string-i)iece  left,  and  the  read«'r  hixn  to  set  bis 
breast  and  swim.  You  have  got  an  expert  driver  this 
time,  who  has  driven  ten  thousand  miles,  and  was  never 
known  to  upset;  can  drive  six  in  hand  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipice,  and  touch  tlie  leaders  anywhere  with  his 
snapper. 

With  wonderful  art  he  grinds  into  paint  for  his  pic- 
tui-e  all  his  moods  and  experiences,  so  that  all  his  forces 
may  be  brought  to  the  encounter.  Apparently  writing 
without  a  particular  design  or  responsibility,  .-s^jtting  down 
his  soliloquies  from  time  to  time,  taking  advantage  of  all 
his  humors,  when  at  length  the  hour  comes  to  declare 
himself,  he  puts  down  in  plain  English,  without  quota- 
tion marks,  what  he,  Thomas  Carlyle,  is  ready  to  defend 
in  the  face  of  the  world,  and  fathers  the  rest,  often  quite 
as  defensible,  only  more  modest,  or  plain  spoken,  or  in- 
sinuating, upon  "  Sauerteig,"  or  some  other  gentleman 
long  employed  on  the  subject.  Rolling  his  subject  how 
many  ways  in  his  mind,  he  meets  it  now  face  to  face, 
wrestling  with  it  at  arm's  length,  and  striving  to  get  it 
down,  or  throw  it  over  his  head  ;  and  if  that  will  not 
do,  or  whether  it  will  do  or  not,  tries  the  back-stitch  and 
side-hug  with  it,  and  downs  it  again,  scalps  it,  draws 
and  quarters  it,  hangs  it  in  chains,  and  leaves  it  to  the 
winds  and  dojjs.  With  his  brows  knit,  his  mind  made 
up,  his  will  resolved  and  resistless,  he  advances,  crashing 
liis  way  through  the  ho-^t  of  weak,  half-formed,  dilettante 
opinions,  honest  and  dishonest  ways  of  thinking,  with 
their  standards  raised,  sentimentalities  and  conjectures, 
and  tranq)les  them  all  into  dust.  Sec  how  he  prevails  ; 
you  don't  even  hear  the  groans  of  the  wounded  und  dy- 


"'11         » 


ti 


■f  *''" 


^:f 


224 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


ing.  Certainly  it  is  not  so  well  worth  the  while  to  look 
through  any  man's  eyes  at  history,  for  the  time,  as 
through  his  ;  and  his  way  of  looking  at  things  is  fastest 
getting  adopted  hy  his  generation. 

It  is  not  in-  man  to  determine  what  his  style  shall  be. 
He  mijrht  as  well  determine  what  his  thoujirhts  shall  be. 
"We  would  not  have  had  him  write  always  as  in  the 
chapter  on  Burns,  and  the  Life  of  Schiller,  and  else- 
where. No  ;  his  thou2;hts  were  ever  irregular  and  im- 
petuous.  Perhaps  as  he  grows  older  and  writes  more  he 
acquires  a  truer  expression  ;  it  is  in  some  respects  man- 
lier, freer,  struggling  up  to  a  level  with  its  fountain-head. 
"We  think  it  is  the  richest  prose  style  we  know  of. 

"Who  cares  what  a  man's  style  is,  so  it  is  intelligible,  — 
as  intelligible  as  his  thought.  Literally  and  really,  the 
style  is  no  more  than  the  stylus,  the  pen  he  writes  with  ; 
and  it  is  not  worth  scraping  and  polishing,  and  gilding, 
unless  it  will  write  his  thoua;hts  the  better  for  it.  It  is 
something  for  use,  and  not  to  look  at.  The  question  for 
us  is,  not  whether  Pope  had  a  fine  style,  wrote  with  a 
peacock's  feather,  but  whether  he  uttered  useful  thoughts. 
Translate  a  book  a  dozen  times  from  one  language  to 
another,  and  what  becomes  of  its  style  ?  IMost  books 
would  be  worn  out  and  disappear  in  this  ordeal.  Tiie 
pen  which  wrote  it  is  soon  destroyed,  but  the  poem 
survives.  "We  believe  that  Carlyle  has,  after  all, 
more  readers,  and  is  b«itter  known  to-day  for  this  very 
originality  of  style,  and  that  posterity  will  have  reason 
to  thank  him  for  emancipatinfjj  the  lanijuajre,  in  some 
measure,  from  the  fetters  which  a  merely  conservative, 
aimless,  and  pedantic  literary  class  had  im{)osed  upon  it, 
and  setting  an  example  of  greater  freedom  and  natural- 
ness.    No  man's  Uioughts  are  new,  but  the  style  of  their 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AMD  HIS  WORKS. 


225 


expression  is  the  never-failing  novelty  -svlilcli  cheers  and 
refreshes  men.  If  we  were  to  answer  tlie  question, 
whether  the  mass  of  men,  as  we  know  them,  talk  as  the 
standard  authors  and  reviewers  write,  or  rather  as  this 
man  writes,  we  should  say  that  he  alone  begins  to  write 
their  language  at  all,  and  that  the  former  is,  for  the  most 
part,  the  mere  elfigies  of  a  language,  not  the  best  method 
of  concealing  one's  thoughts  even,  but  frequently  a  meth- 
od of  doinjj-  without  thou2;hts  at  all. 

In  his  graphic  description  of  Kichter's  style,  Carlylo 
describes  his  own  pretty  nearly  ;  and  r.o  doubt  he  first 
got  his  own  tongue  loosened  at  that  fountain,  and  was 
inspired  by  it  to  equal  freedom  and  originality.  "  The 
language,"  as  he  says  of  Richter,  "  groans  with  inde- 
scribable metaphors  and  allusions  to  all  things,  human 
and  divine,  flowing  onward,  not  like  a  river,  but  like  an 
iiumdation  ;  circling  in  complex  eddies,  chafing  and  gur- 
gling, now  this  way,  now  that";  but  in  Carlyle,  "the 
proper  current "  never  "  sinks  out  of  sight  amid  tlio 
boundless  uproar."  Again :  "  Ilis  very  language  is 
'F'itanian,  —  deep,  strong,  tumultuous,  shining  with  a 
thousand  hues,  fused  from  a  thousand  <.lejnents,  and 
winding  in  labyrinthic  mazes." 

In  short,  if  it  is  desirable  that  a  man  be  eloquent,  that 
he  talk  much,  and  address  himself  to  his  own  age  mainly, 
then  this  is  not  a  i)ad  style  of  doing  it.  But  if  it  is 
desired  rather  that  he  pioneer  into  unexi»lored  regions 
of  thought,  and  speak  to  silent  centuri(!S  to  come,  then, 
indeed,  we  could  wish  that  he  had  eidtivaliMl  th(;  style  of 
(loethe  more,  that  of  Uichter  less;  not  that  Goethe's  is 
the  kind  of  utterance  most  to  be  prized  by  mankind,  but 
it  will  serve  for  a  model  of  the  best  that  can  be  success- 
fully cultivated. 

10*  o 


-# 


n 


226 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


ij 


But  for  style,  and  fine  wi-iting,  and  Aufrnstan  ages, 
that  is  but  a  })Oor  style,  and  vul,Lrar  writing,  and  a  degen- 
erate age,  which  allows  us  to  remember  these  things. 
This  man  has  something  to  communicate.  Carlyle's  are 
not,  in  the  common  sense,  works  of  art  in  their  origin 
and  aim  ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  no  living  English  writer 
evinces  an  equal  literary  talent.  They  are  such  works 
of  art  only  as  the  plough  and  corn-mill  and  steam-en- 
gine,—  not  as  pictures  and  statues.  Others  speak  with 
greater  emphasis  to  scholars,  as  such,  but  none  so  ear- 
nestly and  eflectnally  to  all  who  can  read.  Others  give 
their  advice,  he  gives  his  sympathy  also.  It  is  no  small 
praise  that  he  does  not  take  upon  himself  the  airs,  has 
none  of  the  whims,  none  of  the  [)ride,  the  nice  vulgarities, 
the  starched,  im|)Overishcd  isohition,  and  cold  glitter  of 
the  spoiled  children  of  genius.  He  does  not  need  to 
husband  his  pearl,  but  excels  by  a  greater  humanity  and 
sincerity. 

lie  is  singularly  serious  and  untrivial.  We  are  every- 
Avhere  imj)ressed  by  tlu;  rugged,  unwearied,  and  rich 
sin(;ei-itv  of  the  man.  We  are  sure  that  he  never  sacri- 
ficed  one  jot  of  his  honest  thonglit  to  art  or  whim,  but  to 
utter  himself  in  the  most  direct  and  effectual  way,  —  that 
is  the  endeavor.  These  are  merits  which  will  wear 
well.  When  time  has  worn  deeper  into  the  substance 
of  these  books,  this  grain  will  appear.  No  such  sermons 
have  come  to  us  here  out  of  England,  in  late  years,  as 
those  of  this  preacher,  —  sermons  to  king<,and  sermons  to 
})easants,  and  sermons  to  all  intermediate  clas.-es.  It  is 
in  vain  thtvt  John  l>ull,  or  any  of  his  cousins,  turns  a 
deaf  ear,  and  [)rett'nds  not  to  iiear  them:  nature  v.'ill  not 
soon  be  weaiy  of  i"e[)eating  them.  There  arii  words  less 
obviously  true,  more  I'or  the  nges  to  hear,  perhaps,  but 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AND   HIS  WORKS. 


227 


none  so  impossible  for  tliis  age  not  to  hear.  What  a 
cuttinf]f  cimeter  was  that  "  Past  and  Present,"  goinir 
through  heaps  of  silken  stuffs,  and  glibly  through  the 
necks  of  men,  too,  without  their  knowing  it,  leaving  no 
trace.  lie  has  the  earnestness  of  a  prophet.  In  an  age 
of  })edantry  and  dilettantism,  he  has  no  grain  of  these  in 
his  composition.  There  is  nowhere  else,  surely,  in  re- 
cent readable  English,  or  other  books,  such  direct  and 
elTectual  teaching,  reproving,  encouraging,  stimulating, 
earnestly,  veliemently,  almost  like  Mahomet,  like  Luther ; 
not  looking  behind  him  to  see  how  his  Opera  Omnia 
will  look,  but  forward  to  other  work  to  be  done.  His 
writings  are  a  gospel  to  the  young  of  this  generation  ; 
they  will  hear  his  maidy,  brotherly  speech  with  respon- 
sive joy,  and  press  forward  to  older  or  newer  gospels. 


We  should  omit  a  main  attraction  in  these  books,  if 
we  said  nothing  of  their  humor.  Of  this  indispensable 
pledge  of  sanity,  without  some  leaven,  of  which  the 
abotruse  thinker  may  justly  be  suspected  of  mysticism, 
fanaticism,  or  insanity,  there  is  a  superabundance  in 
Carlyle.  Especially  the  tratisccndental  philosophy  needs 
the  leaven  of  humor  to  render  it  light  and  digestible.  In 
his  later  and  longer  works  it  is  an  unfailing  accomj)ani- 
nient,  reverberating  througli  pages  and  chapters,  long 
sustained  without  effort.  The  very  [)unctuation,  the  ital- 
ics, the  quotation-marks,  the  blank  spaces  and  dashes, 
and  the  capitals,  each  and  all  are  pressed  into  i;-  ser- 
vice. 

Carlyle's  humor  is  vigorous  and  Titanic,  and  has 
more  sense  in  it  than  tlie  sober  i)hilo,-oi)hy  of  many  an- 
other.      It  is   not   to   be   thsposed  of  by   laughter   and 


sm 


iles  merely  ;  it  gets  to  be  too  .-erious  for  that:  on 


ly 


228 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


they  may  laugh  wlio  are  not  hit  by  it.  For  those  who 
love  a  merry  jest,  this  is  a  strange  kind  of  fun,  —  rather 
too  practical  joking,  if  they  understand  it.  The  i)leasant 
humor  which  the  public  loves  is  but  the  innocent  pranks 
of  the  ball-room,  harmless  flow  of  animal  spirits,  the  hght 
plushy  pressure  of  dandy  pumps,  in  comparison.  15ut 
when  an  elephant  takes  to  treading  on  your  corns,  why 
then  you  are  lucky  if  you  sit  high,  or  wear  cowhide. 
His  humor  is  always  subordinate  to  a  serious  purpose, 
though  often  the  real  charm  for  the  reader  is  not  so  much 
in  the  essential  progress  and  Ihial  upshot  of  the  chapter, 
as  in  this  indirect  side-light  illustration  of  every  hue.  He 
sketches  first,  with  strong,  practical  English  pencil,  the 
essential  features  in  outline,  black  on  white,  more  faith- 
fully than  Drj'asdust  would  have  done,  telling  us  wisely 
whom  and  what  to  mark,  to  save  time,  and  tlicu  with 
brush  of  camel's  hair,  or  sometimes  with  more  expe- 
ditious swab,  he  lays  on  the  bright  and  fast  colors  of  his 
humor  everywhere.  One  piece  of  solid  work,  be  it 
known,  we  have  determined  to  do,  about  wliich  let  there 
be  no  jesting,  but  all  things  else  under  the  heavens,  to 
the  right  and  left  of  that,  are  for  the  time  fair  game.  To 
us  this  humor  is  not  wearisome,  as  almost  every  other  is. 
Rabelais,  for  instance,  is  intolerable ;  one  chapter  is  bet- 
ter than  a  volume,  —  it  may  be  sport  to  him,  but  it  is 
death  to  us.  A  mere  humorist,  indeed,  is  a  most  un- 
happy man  ;  and  his  readers  are  most  unhappy  also. 

Humor  is  not  so  distinct  a  quality  as,  for  the  purposes 
of  criticism,  it  is  commonly  regarded,  but  allied  to  every, 
even  the  divinest  faculty.  The  familiar  and  cheerful 
conversation  about  every  hearth ^ide,  if  it  be  analy^^ed, 
will  be  found  to  be  sweetened  by  this  principle.  Tiiere 
is  not  only  a  never-failing,  i)leasant,  and  earnest  humor 


THOMAS  CATvLYLE  AND   IIIS  WORKS. 


229 


kept  up  there,  embracing  the  domestic  airairs,  the  dinner, 
and  the  scohling,  but  there  is  also  a  constant  run  upon 
the  neighbors,  and  upon  Church  and  State,  and  to  cherish 
and  maintain  this,  in  a  great  measure,  the  fire  is  kei)t 
burning,  and  the  dinner  provided.  Tiiere  will  be  neigh- 
bors, parties  to  a  very  genuine,  even  romantic  friendshi[), 
whose  whole  audible  salutation  and  intercourse,  abstain- 
ing from  the  usual  cordial  expressions,  grasping  of  hands, 


affectionate  fa 


;ell.= 


jts  in  the  mutual  i)l: 


mterchange 


a  gem  a 


consist 

d  hei'lthy  humor,  wliicli  excepts 
nothing,  not  even  themselves,  in  its  lawless  range.  The 
child  plays  continually,  if  you  will  let  it,  and  all  its  life  is 
a  sort  of  practical  humor  of  a  very  })ure  kind,  often  of  so 
fine  and  ethereal  a  nature,  that  its  parents,  its  uncles  and 
cousins,  can  in  no  wise  participate  in  it,  but  must  stand 
aloof  in  silent  admiration,  and  reverence  even.  The 
more  ({uiet  the  more  profound  it  is.  Eveu  Nature  is  ob- 
ser\  ed  to  have  her  playful  moods  or  aspects,  of  which 
man  seems  sometimes  to  be  the  sport. 

But,  after  all,  we  could  sometimes  dispense  with  the 
humor,  though  unquestionably  incorporated  in  the  blood, 
if  it  were  re})laced  by  this  author's  gravity.  We  should 
not  apply  to  himself,  without  (pialification,  his  remarks 
on  the  humor  of  Kichter.  "With  more  rei)ose  in  his  in- 
most being,  his  humor  would  become  more  thorouglily 
genial  and  placid.  Humor  is  apt  to  imply  but  a  half 
satisfaction  at  best.  In  his  pleasantest  and  most  genial 
hour,  man  smiles  but  as  the  globe  smiles,  and  the  works 
of  natui'c.  The  fruits  dry  ri[)e,  and  much  as  we  relish 
some  of  them  in  their  green  and  pulpy  state,  we  lay  up 
for  our  winter  store,  not  out  of  the>o,  but  the  rustling 
autumnal  harvests.  Tiiough  we  never  weary  of  this 
vivacious  wit,  while  we  are  [)erusing  its  work,  yet  when 


m 


V 


1!!^ 


230 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


■I 


wc  remember  it  from  afar,  we  sometimes  feel  balked  and 
disappointed,  missing  the  security,  the  simplicity,  and 
frankness,  even  the  occasional  magnanimity  of  acknowl- 
edged dulness  and  bungling.  This  never-iailing  success 
and  brilliant  talent  become  a  reproach. 

Besides,  humor  does  not  wear  well.  It  is  commonly 
enough  said,  that  a  joke  will  not  bear  repeating.  The 
deepest  humor  will  not  keep.  Humors  do  not  circulate 
but  stagnate,  or  circulate  partially.  In  the  oldest  litera- 
ture, in  the  Hebrew,  the  Hindoo,  the  Persian,  the  Chi- 
nese, it  is  rarely  humor,  even  the  most  divine,  which  still 
survives,  but  the  most  sober  and  })rivate,  painful  or  joyous 
thoughts,  maxims  of  duty,  to  which  the  life  of  all  men 
may  be  referred.  After  time  has  sifted  tlie  literature  of 
a  people,  there  is  left  only  their  SciiirxuKK,  for  that  is 
WRITING,  par  excellence.  This  is  as  true  of  the  poets,  as 
of  the  philoso})hers  and  moralists  by  ])rofession ;  ibr 
what  subsides  in  any  of  these  is  the  moral  only,  to  re- 
appear as  dry  land  at  some  remote  epoch. 

We  confess  that  Carlyle's  humor  is  rich,  deep,  and 
variegated,  in  direct  communication  with  the  backbone 
and  risible  muscles  of  the  globe,  —  and  there  is  nothing 
like  it;  but  m  ch  as  we  relish  this  jovial,  this  rapid  and 
delugeous  way  of  conveying  one's  views  and  impressions, 
when  we  would  not  converse  but  meditate,  we  pray  for 
a  man's  diamond  edition  of  his  thought,  without  the  col- 
ored illuminations  in  the  margin,  —  the  fishes  and  drag- 
ons, and  unicorns,  the  red  or  the  blue  ink,  but  its  initial 
letter  in  distinct  skeleton  type,  and  the  whole  so  clipped 
and  condensed  down  to  the  very  essence  of  it,  that  time 
will  have  little  tft  do.  We  know  not  but  we  shall  im- 
migrate sooi.,  and  would  fain  take  with  us  all  the  treas- 
ures of  the  East ;  and  all  kinds  of  dri/,  portable  soups,  in 


THOMAS  C.UJLYLE  AND  HIS  WOKKS. 


231 


small  tin  canisters,  which  contain  whole  herds  of  Eng- 
lish beeves  boiled  down,  will  be  acceptable. 

The  difference  between  this  flashinjr,  litfiil  writing  and 
pure  philosophy  is  the  dilference  between  flanio  and 
light.  Tiie  Hame,  indeed,  yields  light;  but  when  we  are 
so  near  as  to  observe  the  flame,  we  are  apt  to  be  incom- 
moded by  the  heat  and  smoke.  But  tlie  sun,  that  old 
Platouist,  is  set  so  far  oil'  in  the  heavens,  that  only  a 
genial  summer-heat  and  ineffable  daylight  can  reach  us. 
But  many  a  time,  we  confess,  in  wintry  weather,  we 
have  been  glad  to  forsake  the  sunlight,  and  warm  us  by 
these  Promethean  fhimes.  Carlyle  must  undoubtedly 
[)lead  guilty  to  the  charge  of  mannerism.  He  not  only 
has  his  vein,  but  his  peculiar  manner  of  working  it.  lie 
has  a  style  wliich  can  be  imitated,  and  sometimes  is  an 
hnitator  of  himself. 

Certainly,  no  critic  has  anywhere  said  what  is  more  to 
the  purpose,  than  this  which  Carlyle's  own  writings  fur- 
nish, which  we  quote,  as  well  for  its  intrinsic  merit  as  for 
its  pertinence  here.  "It  is  true,"  says  he,  thinking  of 
Kicliter,  "  the  beaten  paths  of  literature  lea<l  the  safeliest 
to  the  goal ;  and  the  talent  pleases  us  most  whicli  submits 
to  shine  with  new  gracefulness  through  old  forms.  Nor 
is  the  noblest  and  most  peculiar  mind  too  noble  or  pecu- 
liar for  working  by  prescribed  laws  ;  Sophocles,  Shake- 
speare, Cervantes,  and  in  Richter's  own  age,  Goethe, 
how  little  did  they  innovate  on  the  given  forms  of  com- 
position, how  nuich  in  the  spirit  they  breathed  into  them  ! 
All  this  is  true  ;  and  Richter  nmst  lose  of  our  esteem 
in  proportion."  And  again,  in  the  chapter  on  Goethe, 
"  We  read  Goethe  for  years  before  we  come  to  see  where- 
in the  distinguishing  peculiarity  of  his  understanding,  of 
his  disposition,  even  of  his  way  of  writing,  consists  !     It 


232 


THOMAS  CAULYLK  AND  HIS  WOIIKS. 


seems  quite  a  simple  style,  [that  of  his  ?]  remarkable 
chiefly  for  its  calmness,  its  perspicuity,  in  short,  its 
commonness  ;  and  yet  it  is  the  most  uncommon  of  all 
styles."  And  this,  too,  translated  for  us  by  the  same  i)en 
from  Schiller,  which  we  will  apply  not  merely  to  the  out- 
ward form  of  his  works,  but  to  their  inner  form  and 
substance.  lie  is  speakinfj  of  the  artist.  "  Let  some 
beneficent  divinity  snatch  him,  when  a  suckling,  from  the 
breast  of  his  mother,  and  nurse  him  with  the  milk  of  a 
better  time,  that  he  may  ripen  to  his  full  stature  beneath 
a  distant  Grecian  sky.  And  having  grown  to  manhood, 
let  him  return,  a  foreign  shape,  into  his  century  ;  not, 
however,  to  delight  it  by  his  presence,  but,  dreadful,  like 
the  son  of  Agamemnon,  to  purify  it.  The  matter  of  his 
works  he  will  take  from  the  present,  but  their  form  he 
will  derive  from  a  nobler  time  ;  nay,  from  beyond  all 
time,  from  the  absolute  unchanging  unity  of  his  own  na- 
ture." 

But  enough  of  this.  Our  complaint  is  already  out  of 
all  proportion  to  our  discontent. 

Carlyle's  works,  it  is  irue,  have  not  the  stereotyped 
success  which  we  call  classic.  They  are  a  rich  but  inex- 
pensive entertainment,  at  which  we  are  not  concerned 
lest  the  host  has  strained  or  impoverished  himself  to  feed 
liis  guests.  It  is  not  the  most  lasting  word,  nor  the 
loftiest  wisdom,  but  rather  the  word  which  comes  last. 
For  his  genius  it  was  reserved  to  give  expression  to  the 
thoughts  which  were  throbbing  iu  a  million  breasts.  He 
has  plucked  the  ripest  fruit  in  the  public  gsu-den ;  but 
this  fruit  already  least  concerned  the  tree  that  bore  it, 
which  was  rather  perfecting  the  bud  at  the  foot  of  the 
leaf-stalk.  liis  works  are  not  to  be  studied,  but  read 
with  a  swift  satisfaction.     Their  flavor  and  gust  is  like 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AM)  HIS  WORKS. 


233 


what  poets  tell  of  the  froth  of  wine,  which  can  only  bo 
tasted  once  and  ha>lily.  On  a  review  we  can  never  find 
the  pages  we  had  read.  Yet  they  are  in  some  degree 
true  natural  products  in  this  respect.  All  things  are 
but  once,  and  never  re})uated.  These  works  were  de- 
signed for  such  complete  success  that  they  serve  but  for 
a  single  occasion. 

But  he  is  wilfully  and  pertinaciously  unjust,  even 
scurrilous,  im[)olite,  ungentlemanly  ;  calls  us  "Imbeciles," 
"  Dilettants,"  "Philistines,"  implying  sometimes  what 
would  not  sound  well  exi)ressed.  It'  he  would  ado])t  the 
newspaper  style,  and  take  back  these  hard  names  — 
But  where  is  the  reader  who  does  not  derive  some  ben- 
efit from  these  e})itli('ts,  applying  them  to  himself?         ^ 

He  is,  in  fact,  the  best  tempered,  and  not  the  least  im- 
partial of  reviewers.  lie  goes  out  of  his  way  to  do  jus- 
tice to  profligates  and  quacks.  There  is  somewhat  e\en 
Cliristian,  in  the  rarest  and  most  peculiar  sense,  in  his 
universal  brotherliness,  his  simple,  child-like  endurance, 
and  earnest,  honest  endeavor,  with  sympathy  for  the 
like.  Carlyle,  to  adopt  his  own  classification,  is  himself 
the  hero  as  literary  man.  There  is  no  more  notable 
workingman  in  England,  in  Manchester  or  Birmingham, 
or  the  mines  round  about.  We  know  not  how  many 
hours  a  day  he  toils,  nor  for  what  wages,  exactly :  we  only 
know  the  results  for  us. 

Notwithstanding  the  very  genuine,  admirable,  and 
loyal  tributes  to  Burns,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  others, 
Carlylu  is  not  a  critic  of  poetry.  In  the  book  of  heroes, 
Shakespeare,  the  hero  as  poet,  comes  off  rather  slimly. 
His  sympathy,  as  we  said,  is  with  the  men  of  endeavor; 
not  using  the  life  got,  but  still  bravely  getting  their  life. 
"In  fact,"   as  he  says  of  Cromwellj   "everywhere   we 


•r:?' 


231 


THOMAS   CARLVLE  AND  IIIS  WORKS. 


have  to  notice  tlie  decisive  practical  eye  of  this  man  ; 
how  he  drives  toward  the  practical  and  [»racticable  ;  has 
a  genuine  insight  into  what  is  fact."  You  nui.-t  liave 
Yi^ry  stout  legs  to  get  noticed  at  all  .jy  him.  He  is  thor- 
oughly English  in  his  love  of  pra(;tical  men,  and  dislike 
for  cant,  and  ardent  enthusiastic  heads  that  are  not  sup- 
])orted  by  any  legs.  He  would  kindly  knock  them  down 
tliatthey  may  regain  some  vigor  by  touching  their  moth- 
er eartli.  AVe  have  often  wondered  how  he  ever  found 
out  Burns,  and  must  still  refer  a  good  share  of  his  de- 
light in  him  to  neighborhood  and  early  association.  The 
Lycidas  and  Connis,  appearing  in  lilackwood's  jNIagJizine, 
woidd  probably  go  unread  by  him,  nor  lead  him  to  expect 
{\  Paradise  Lost.  Tlie  condi(ion-of-Engliind  question  is 
a  practical  one.  The  condition  of  England  demands  a 
hero,  not  a  poet.  Other  things  demand  a  poet ;  the  poet 
answers  other  demands.  Carlyle  in  London,  with  this 
question  pressing  on  him  so  urgmitly,  sees  no  occasion 
for  minstrels  and  rhapsodists  there.  Kings  may  have 
their  bards  when  there  are  any  kings.  Homer  would 
certainhj  go  a-begging  there.  He  lives  in  Chelsea,  not 
on  the  })lains  of  Hindostan,  nor  on  the  prairies  of  the 
West,  where  settlers  are  scarce,  and  a  man  must  at  least 
go  lohistlmg  to  himself. 

What  he  says  of  poetry  is  rapidly  uttered,  and  sug- 
gestive of  a  thought,  rather  than  the  deliberate  develo})- 
ment  of  any.  He  answers  your  question,  What  is  po- 
etry? by  writing  a  special  poem,  as  that  Norse  one,  for 
instance,  in  the  Book  of  Heroes,  altogether  wild  and 
original;  —  answers  your  question,  What  is  light?  by 
kindling  a  blaze  which  dazzles  you,  and  pales  sun  and 
moon,  and  not  as  a  peasant  might,  by  opening  a  shutter. 

Carlyle  is  not  a  seer^  but  a  brave  looker-on  and  revieiv- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


235 


er ;  not  the  most  free  and  catliolir  observer  of  men  and 
events,  lor  tlicy  are  likely  to  tiiid  him  preoccupied,  but 
unexpectedly  free  and  catholic  when  they  Tall  within  the 
focus  of  his  lens.  lie  does  not  live  in  the  present  hour, 
and  read  men  and  books  as  they  occur  for  his  theme,  but 
having  chosen  this,  he  directs  his  studies  to  this  end. 
If  we  look  again  at  his  page,  we  are  apt  to  retract 
somewhat  that  we  have  said.  Often  a  geimiiu!  poetic 
feeling  dawns  through  it,  like  tlw;  texture  of  the  earth 
seen  through  the  dead  grass  and  leaves  in  the  spring. 
The  History  of  the  French  Revolution  is  a  poem,  ut 
length  tran^lated  into  prose,  —  an  Iliad,  indeed,  as  he  him- 
self has  it,  —  "The  destructive  wrath  of  Sansculotism  : 
this  is  what  we  speak,  having  unliap[)ily  no  voice  for 


sniumg. 


One  improvement  we  could  suggest  in  this  last,  as  in- 
deed in  most  epics,  —  that  he  should  let  in  the  sun  ofte»ier 
ujjon  his  picture.  It  does  not  ofteri  enough  apj»ear,  but 
it  is  all  revolution,  the  old  way  of  human  life  turned 
simply  bottom  upward,  so  that  when  at  length  we  are 
inadvertently  reminded  of  the  '•  Brcjt  Shipping,"  a  St. 
Don)ingo  colony,  and  that  anybody  thinks  of  owning 
plantations,  and  simply  turning  up  the  soil  there,  and 
that  now  at  length,  after  some  years  of  this  revolution, 
there  is  a  falling  off  in  the  importation  of  sugar,  we  feel 
a  queer  surprise.  Had  they  not  sweetened  their  water 
with  revolution  then  ?  It  would  be  well  if  there  were 
several  chapters  headed  "•  Work  ibr  the  INIonth,"  — 
Kevoiution-work  inclusive,  of  course,  —  "  Altitude  of  the 
Sun,"  ''  State  of  the  Crops  and  Markets,"  "Meteorological 
Observations,"  "  Attractive  Industry,"  "  Day  Labor," 
&;c.,  just  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  French  peasantry 
did  something  beside  go  without  breeches,  burn  chateaus, 


k^    ¥  : 


if  i 


236 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


get  ready  knotted  cords,  and  embrace  and  throttle  one 
another  by  turns.  These  things  are  sometimes  hinted 
at,  but  they  deserve  a  notice  more  in  proportion  to  their 
hnportance.  We  want  not  only  a  background  to  the 
picture,  but  a  ground  under  the  feet  also.  We  remark, 
too,  occasionally,  an  unphilosophical  habit,  common 
enough  elsewhere,  in  Alison's  History  of  Modern  Europe, 
for  instance,  of  saying,  undoubtedly  with  effect,  that  if  a 
straw  had  not  fallen  this  way  or  that,  why  then  —  but, 
of  course,  it  is  as  easy  in  philosophy  to  make  kingdoms 
rise  and  fall  as  straws. 

The  poet  is  blithe  and  cheery  ever,  and  as  well  as 
nature.  Carlyle  has  not  the  simple  Homeric  health  of 
Wordsworth,  nor  the  deliberate  philosophic  turn  of  Cole- 
ridge, nor  the  scholastic  taste  of  Landor,  but,  though 
sick  and  under  restraint,  the  constitutional  vigor  of  one 
of  his  old  Norse  heroes,  struggling  in  a  lurid  light,  with 
Jotuns  still,  striving  to  throw  the  old  woman,  and  "slie 
was  Time,"  —  striving  to  lift  the  big  cat,  and  that  was 
*'  the  Great  World-Serpent,  which,  tail  in  mouth,  girds 
and  keeps  up  the  whole  created  world."  The  smith, 
though  so  brawny  and  tough,  I  should  not  call  the  health- 
iest man.  There  is  too  much  shop-work,  too  great  ex- 
tremes of  heat  and  cold,  and  incessant  ten-pound-teii  and 
thrashing  of  the  anvil,  in  his  life.  But  the  haymaker's 
is  a  true  sunny  perspiration,  [)roduced  by  the  extreme  of 
summer  heat  only,  and  coiiver-r^ant  with  the  blast  of  the 
ze[)hyr,  not  of  the  forge-bellows.  We  know  very  well 
the  nature  of  this  man's  sadness,  but  we  do  not  know  the 
nature  of  his  gladness. 

The  poet  will  maintaiu  serenity  in  spite  of  all  disap- 
pointments. He  is  expected  to  preserve  an  unconcerned 
and  healthy  outlook  over  the  world,  while  he  lives.  Philo- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


237 


Sophia  practica  est  ermUtionis  meta,  —  Philosophy  prac- 
tised is  tlie  goal  of  learning  ;  and  for  that  other,  Oratoris 
est  celare  artem,  we  might  read,  Ilerois  est  celarepiignnm^ 
—  the  hero  will  conceal  his  struggles.  Poetry  is  the  only 
life  got,  the  only  work  done,  the  only  pure  product  and 
free  labor  of  man,  performed  only  when  he  has  put  all 
the  world  under  his  ieet,  and  conquered  the  last  of  his 
foes. 

Carlyle  speaks  of  Nature  with  a  certain  unconscious 
pathos  for  the  most  part.  Slie  is  to  him  a  receded  but 
ever  memorable  splendor,  casting  still  a  reflected  light 
over  all  his  scenery.  As  we  read  his  books  here  in 
New  England,  where  there  are  potatoes  enough,  and 
v.very  man  can  get  his  living  peacefully  and  sportively 
as  the  birds  and  bees,  and  need  think  no  more  of  that,  it 
seems  to  us  as  if  by  the  world  he  often  meant  London,  at 
the  head  of  the  tide  upon  the  Thames,  the  sorest  place 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  the  very  citadel  of  conservatism. 

In  his  writings,  we  should  say  that  he,  as  conspicuously 
as  any,  though  with  little  enough  expressed  or  even  con- 
scious sympathy,  represents  the  Reformer  class,  and  all 
the  better  for  not  being  the  acknowledged  leader  of  any. 
In  him  the  universal  plaint  is  most  settled,  unappeasable, 
and  serious.  Until  a  thousand  named  and  nameless 
grievances  are  righted,  there  will  be  no  repose  for  him 
in  the  lap  of  nature,  or  the  seclusion  of  science  and  litera- 
ture. By  foreseeing  it,  he  hastens  the  crisis  in  the  affairs 
of  England,  and  is  as  good  as  many  years  added  to  her 
history. 

To  do  himself  justice,  and  set  some  of  his  readers  right, 
he  should  give  us  some  transcendent  hero  at  length,  to 
rule  his  demigods  and  Titans ;  develop,  perhaps,  his  re- 
served and  dumb  reverence  for  Christ,  not  speaking  to  a 


ll 


238 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  UIS  WORKS. 


London  or  Church  of  England  audience  merely.  Let 
not  "  sacred  silence  meditate  that  sacred  matter  "  forever, 
but  let  us  have  sacred  speech  and  sacred  scripture  there- 
on. 

Every  man  will  include  in  his  list  of  worthies  those 
whom  he  himself  best  represents.  Carlyle,  and  our 
countryman  Emerson,  whose  place  and  influence  must 
erelong  obtain  a  more  distinct  recognition,  are,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  the  complement  of  each  other.  The  age 
could  not  do  with  one  of  them,  it  cannot  do  with  both. 
To  make  a  broad  and  rude  distinction,  to  suit  our  present 
purpose,  the  former,  as  critic,  deals  with  the  men  of 
action,  —  Mahomet,  Lul her,  Cromwell;  the  latter  with 
the  thinkers,  —  Plato,  Shakespeare,  Goethe  ;  for,  though 
both  have  written  upon  Goethe,  they  do  not  meet  in  him. 
The  one  has  more  sympathy  with  the  heroes,  or  prac- 
tical reformers,  the  other  with  the  observers,  or  phi:>s( 
phers.  Put  their  worthies  together,  and  you  will  havt  \ 
pretty  fair  representation  of  mankind  ;  yet  with  one  or 
more  memorable  exceptions.  To  say  nothing  of  Christ, 
who  yet  awaits  a  just  a[)preciation  from  literature,  the 
peacefully  practical  hero,  whom  Columbus  may  repre- 
sent, is  obviously  slighted  ;  but  above  imd  after  all,  the 
Man  of  the  Age,  come  to  be  called  workingman,  it  is 
obvious  that  none  yet  speaks  to  his  condition,  for  the 
speaker  is  not  yet  in  his  condition. 

Like  speaks  to  like  only  ;  labor  to  labor,  philosophy 
to  philosophy,  criticism  to  criticism,  poetry  to  poetry. 
Literature  speaks  how  much  still  to  the  past,  how  little 
to  the  future,  how  much  to  the  East,  how  little  to  the 
West,— 

In  tho  East  fumes  nro  won, 
In  tlie  West  deiids  are  done. 


!     6!|!ip5f:^. 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


239 


Let 
forever, 
tliere- 


;s  those 

,nd  our 

;e  must 

0  a  cer- 

'he  age 

th  both. 

present 

men  of 

;er  with 

,  though 

t  ill  him. 

or  prac- 

phi:o.s( 

11  have  I 

h  one  or 

'  Christ, 

;ure,  the 

y  re{)re- 

all,  the 

an,  it  is 

for  the 

ilosophy 

poetry. 

)vv  little 

B  to  the 


One  merit  in  Carlyle,  let  the  subject  be  what  it  may, 
is  the  freedom  of  prospect  he  allows,  the  entire  absence 
of  cant  and  dogma.  He  removes  many  cart-loads  of 
rubbish,  and  leaves  open  a  broad  highway.  His  writings 
are  all  unfenccd  on  the  side  of  the  future  and  the  possi- 
ble. Though  he  does  but  iuadvertently  direct  our  eyes 
to  the  open  heavens,  nevertheless  he  lets  us  wander  broad- 
ly underneath,  and  shows  them  to  us  reflected  in  innumer- 
able pools  and  lakes. 

These  volumes  contain  not  the  highest,  but  a  very 
practicable  wisdom,  which  startles  and  provokes,  rather 
than  informs  us.  Carlyle  does  not  oblige  us  to  think  ; 
we  have  thought  enough  for  him  already,  but  he  compels 
us  to  act.  We  accompany  him  rapidly  through  an  end- 
less gallery  of  pictures,  and  glorious  reminiscences  of 
experiences  unimproved.  "  Have  you  not  had  Moses 
and  the  prophets  ?  Neither  will  ye  be  persuaded 
if  one  should  rise  from  the  dead."  There  is  no  calm 
philosophy  of  life  here,  such  as  you  might  put  at  the  end 
of  the  Almanac,  to  hang  over  the  farmer's  hearth,  how 
men  shall  live  in  these  winter,  in  these  summer  days. 
No  philosophy,  properly  speaking,  of  love,  or  friendship, 
or  religion,  or  politics,  or  education,  or  nature,  or  spirit ; 
perhaps  a  nearer  approach  to  a  philosophy  of  kingship, 
and  of  the  place  of  the  literary  man,  than  of  anything 
else.  A  rare  preacher,  with  prayer,  and  psalm,  and  ser- 
mon, and  benediction,  but  no  contemplation  of  man's  life 
from  the  serene  oriental  ground,  nor  yet  from  the  stirring 
occidental.  No  thanksgiving  sermon  for  the  holydays, 
or  the  Easter  vacation.-,  when  all  meu  submit  to  float  on 
the  full  currents  of  life.  When  we  see  with  what  spirits, 
though  with  little  heroism  cuougl 


Kft 


'ill' 


'1' 


^o"' 


lopper: 


1 


240 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


m 

'.-.I .  i 


vers,  and  apprentices  take  and  spend  life,  playing  all  day- 
long, sunning  themselves,  shading  themselves,  eating, 
drinking,  sleeping,  we  think  that  the  philosophy  of  their 
life  written  would  be  sueh  a  level  natural  history  as  the 
Gardener's  Calendar  and  the  works  of  the  early  botan- 
ists, inconceivably  slow  to  come  to  practical  conclusions. 

There  is  no  philosophy  here  for  philosophers,  only  as 
every  man  is  said  to  have  his  philosophy.  No  system 
but  such  as  is  the  man  himself;  and,  indeed,  he  stands 
compactly  enough  ;  no  progress  beyond  the  first  assertion 
and  challenge,  as  it  were,  with  trumpet  blast.  One 
thing  is  certain,  —  that  we  had  best  be  doing  something  in 
good  earnest  henceforth  forever  ;  that 's  an  indispensable 
philosophy.  Tiie  before  impossible  precept,  "  knoiv  thi/- 
self,'*  he  translates  into  the  partially  possible  one,  "  know 
what  thou  canst  work  at.^'  Sartor  Resartus  is,  perhaps, 
the  sunniest  and  most  philosophical,  as  it  is  the  most 
autobiographical  of  his  works,  in  which  he  drew  most 
largely  on  the  experience  of  his  youth.  But  we  miss 
everywhere  a  calm  depth,  like  a  lake,  even  stagnant,  and 
must  submit  to  rapidity  and  whirl,  as  on  skates,  with  all 
kinds  of  skilful  and  antic  motions,  sculling,  sliding,  cut- 
ting punch-bowls  and  rings,  forward  and  backward.  The 
talent  is  very  nearly  equal  to  the  genius.  Sometimes  it 
would  be  preferable  to  wade  slowly  through  a  Serboniau 
bog,  and  feel  the  juices  of  the  meadov/. 

Beside  some  philosophers  of  larger  vision,  Carlyle 
stands  like  an  honest,  hulf-despairing  boy,  graspiTig  at 
bome  details  only  of  their  world  systems.  Philosophy, 
certainly,  is  some  account  of  truths,  the  fragments  and 
very  insignificant  parts  of  which  man  will  practise  in  tliis 
workshop  ;  truths  infinite  and  in  harmony  with  infinity ; 
iu  respect  to  which  the  very  objects  and  ends  of  the  so- 


THOMAS   CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


241 


all  clay 

of  their 
y  as  the 
y  botan- 
lu.-ions. 

only  as 
)  system 
e  stands 
issertiou 
t.  One 
;thing  in 
lensable 
noiv  thy- 

"  know 
perhaps, 
he  most 
ew  most 
wc  miss 
lant,  and 

with  all 
ling,  cut- 
ird.  The 
etimes  it 
erboniau 

Carlyle 
spiTig  at 
ilosophy, 
ents  and 
se  in  this 
infinity ; 
f  the  so- 


called  practical  philosopher  will  be  mere  propositions, 
like  the  rest.  It  would  be  no  reproach  to  a  philosopher, 
that  he  knew  the  future  better  tlian  the  past,  or  even 
than  the  present.  It  is  better  wortii  knowing.  He  will 
prophesy,  tell  what  is  to  be,  or  in  other  words,  what 
alone  is,  under  appearances,  laying  little  stress  on  the 
boiling  of  the  pot,  or  the  condition-of-England  question. 
He  has  no  more  to  do  with  the  condition  of  England 
than  with  her  national  debt,  which  a  vigorous  generation 
would  not  inherit.  Tlie  philosopher's  conception  of  things 
will,  above  all,  be  truer  than  other  men's,  and  his  phi- 
losophy will  subordinate  all  the  circumstances  of  life. 
To  live  like  a  pliilosopher  is  to  live,  not  foolishly,  like 
oi  er  men,  but  wisely  and  according  to  universal  laws. 
If  Carlyle  does  not  take  two  ste[)s  in  philosophy,  are 
there  any  who  take  three  ?  Philosophy  having  crept 
clinging  to  the  rocks,  so  far,  puts  out  its  feelers  many 
ways  in  vain.  It  would  be  hard  to  surprise  him  by  the 
relation  of  any  important  human  experience,  but  in  some 
nook  or  corner  of  his  works  you  will  find  that  this,  too, 
was  sometimes  dreamed  of  in  his  philosophy. 

To  sum  up  our  most  serious  objections  in  a  few 
words,  we  should  say  that  Carlyle  indicates  u  depth,  — 
and  we  mean  not  impliedly,  but  distinctly,  —  which  he 
neglects  to  fathom.  We  want  to  know  more  about  that 
which  he  wants  to  know  as  well.  If  any  luminous  star 
or  undissolvable  nebula  is  visible  from  his  station  which 
is  not  visible  from  ours,  the  interests  of  science  recpiiro 
that  the  fact  be  communicated  to  us.  The  universe 
expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty  in  his  parallel  of  lati- 
tude. We  want  to  hear  more  of  his  inmost  life ;  his 
hymn  and  prayer  more  ;  his  elegy  and  eulogy  less ;  that 
he  should  speak  more  from  his  character,  and  less  from 
11  V 


y  y. 


1 

■    h; 
.      1. 

f 

242 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


'Mi 


i 


his  talent ;  communicate  centrally  with  his  readers,  and 
not  by  a  side  ;  that  he  should  say  what  he  believes,  with- 
out suspecting  that  men  disbelieve  it,  out  of  his  never- 
misunderstood  nature.  His  genius  can  cover  all  the 
land  with  gorgeous  palaces,  but  the  reader  does  not 
abide  in  them,  but  pitches  his  tent  rather  in  the  desert 
and  on  the  mountain-peak. 

When  we  look  about  for  something  to  quote,  as  the 
fairest  specimen  of  the  man,  we  confess  that  we  labor 
under  an  unusual  difficulty  ;  for  his  philosophy  is  so 
little  of  the  proverbial  or  sentential  kind,  and  opens  so 
gradually,  rising  insensibly  from  the  reviewer's  level, 
and  developing  its  thought  completely  and  in  detail,  that 
we  look  in  vain  for  the  brilliant  passages,  for  point  and 
antithesis,  and  must  end  by  quoting  his  works  entire. 
What  in  a  writer  of  less  breadth  would  have  been  the 
proposition  which  would  have  bounded  his  discourse,  his 
column  of  victory,  his  Pillar  of  Hercules,  and  ne  jjIus  ul- 
tra, is  in  Carlyle  frequently  the  same  thought  unfolded ; 
no  Pillar  of  Hercules,  but  a  considerable  prospect,  north 
and  south,  along  the  Atlantic  coast.  There  are  other  pil- 
lars of  Hercules,  like  beacons  and  light-houses,  still  further 
in  tlie  horizon,  toward  Atlantis,  set  up  by  a  few  ancient 
and  modern  travellers  ;  but,  so  fir  as  this  traveller  goes, 
he  clears  and  colonizes,  and  all  the  surplus  population  of 
London  is  bound  thither  at  once.  Wliat  we  would  quote 
is,  in  fact,  his  vivacity,  and  not  any  particular  wisdom  or 
sense,  which  last  is  ever  synonymous  with  sentence  [^sen- 
te7itia'] ,  as  in  his  contemporaries  Coleridge,  Landor,  and 
Wordsworth.  We  have  not  attempted  to  discriminate 
between  his  works,  but  have  rather  regarded  them  all  as 
one  work,  as  is  the  man  himself.  We  have  not  examined 
BO  much  as  remembered  them.     To  do  otherwise  would 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


243 


have  required  a  more  indifferent,  and  perhaps  even  less 
just  review,  than  the  present. 

All  his  works  might  well  enough  be  embraced  under 
the  title  of  one  of  them,  a  good  specimen  brick,  "  On 
Heroes,  Hero- Worship,  and  the  Heroic  in  History." 
Of  this  department  he  is  the  Chief  Professor  in  the 
"World's  University,  and  even  leaves  Plutarch  behind. 
Such  intimate  and  living,  such  loyal  and  generous  sym- 
pathy with  the  heroes  of  history,  not  one  in  one  age 
<  but  forty  iu  forty  ages,  such  an  unparalleled  re- 

vie  ...^ig  and  greeting  '  ,Al  past  worth,  with  exceptions, 
to  be  sure,  —  but  exceptions  were  the  rule  before,  —  it 
was,  indeed,  to  make  this  the  age  of  review  writing,  as 
if  now  one  period  of  the  human  story  were  completing 
itself,  and  getting  its  accounts  settled.  This  soldier  has 
told  the  stories  with  new  emj)hasis,  and  will  be  a  memo- 
rable hander-down  of  fame  to  posterity.  And  with 
what  wise  discrimination  he  has  selected  his  men,  with 
reference  both  to  his  own  genius  and  to  theirs,  —  Ma- 
homet, Dante,  Cromwell,  Voltaire,  Johnson,  Burns, 
Goethe,  Richter,  Schiller,  Mirabeau,  —  could  any  of 
these  have  been  spai'ed?  These  we  wanted  to  hear 
about.  We  have  not  as  commonly  the  cold  and  refined 
judgment  of  the  scholar  and  critic  merely,  but  something 
more  human  and  affecting.  These  eulogies  have  the  glow 
and  warmth  of  friendship.  There  is  sympathy,  not 
with  mere  fames,  and  formless,  incredible  things,  but 
with  kindred  men,  —  not  transiently,  but  life-long  he  has 
walked  with  them. 

No  doubt,  some  of  Carlyle's  worthies,  should  they 
ever  return  to  earth,  would  find  themselves  unpleasantly 
put  upon  their  good  behavior,  to  sustain  their  charac- 
ters ;  but  if  he  can  return  a  man's  life  more  perfect  to 


244 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


our  hands  than  it  was  left  at  his  death,  following  out  the 
design  of  its  author,  we  shall  have  no  great  cause  to 
complain.  "We  do  not  want  a  daguerreotype  likeness. 
All  biography  is  the  life  of  Adara, —  a  much-experienced 
man,  —  and  time  withdraws  something  partial  from  the 
story  of  every  individual,  that  the  historian  may  supply 
something  <^  -^neral.  If  these  virtues  were  not  in  this 
man,  perhaps  they  are  in  his  biographer,  —  no  fatal  mis- 
take. Really,  in  any  other  sense,  we  never  do,  nor 
desire  to,  come  at  the  historical  man, — unless  we  rob 
his  grave,  that  is  the  nearest  approach.  Why  did  he 
die,  then  ?     He  is  with  his  bones,  surely. 

No  doubt  Carlyle  has  a  propensity  to  exaggerate  the 
heroic  in  history,  that  is,  he  creates  you  an  ideal 
hero  rather  than  another  thing:  he  has  most  of  that 
material.  This  we  allow  in  all  its  senses,  and  in  one 
narrower  sense  it  is  not  so  convenient.  Yet  what  were 
history  if  he  did  not  exaggerate  it  ?  How  comes  it  that 
history  never  has  to  wait  for  facts,  but  for  a  man  to 
writt  ?  The  ages  may  go  on  forgetting  the  facts  never 
so  long,  he  can  remember  two  for  every  one  forgotten. 
The  musty  records  of  history,  like  the  catacombs,  contain 
the  perishable  remains,  but  only  in  the  breast  of  genius 
are  embalmed  the  souls  of  heroes.  There  is  very  little 
of  what  is  called  criticism  here  ;  it  is  love  and  reverence, 
rather,  which  deal  with  qualities  not  relatively,  but  abso- 
lutely great;  for  whatever  is  admirable  in  a  man  is 
something  infinite,  to  which  we  cannot  set  bounds. 
These  sentiments  allow  the  mortal  to  die,  the  immortal 
and  divine  to  survive.  There  is  something  antique,  even, 
in  his  style  of  treating  his  subject,  reminding  us  that 
Heroes  and  Demi-gods,  Fates  and  Furies,  still  exist ;  the 
common  man  is  nothing  to  him,  but  after  death  the  hero 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  HIS  WORKS. 


215 


out  tlie 
;ause  to 
ikeness. 
jrienced 
'om  the 
'  supply 

in  this 
ital  mis- 
do,  nor 

we  rob 
T  did  he 

nate  the 
an   ideal 
;  of  that 
d  in  one 
hat  were 
33  it  that 
I  man  to 
kCts  never 
forgotten. 
8,  contain 
of  genius 
iTcry  little 
•everence, 

but  abso- 
a  man  is 
t   bounds. 

immortal 
que,  even, 
g  us  that 

exist ;  the 
h  the  hero 


is  apotlicosized  and  has  a  place  in  heaven,  as  in  the 
religion  of  the  Greeks. 

Exaggeration  !  was  ever  any  virtue  attributed  to  a 
man  without  exaggeration  ?  was  ever  any  vice,  without 
infinite  exaggeration  ?  Do  we  not  exaggerate  ourselves 
to  ourselves,  or  do  we  recognize  ourselves  for  the  actual 
men  we  are  ?  Are  we  not  all  great  men  ?  Yet  what 
are  we  actually  to  speak  of?  We  live  by  exaggeration. 
What  else  is  it  to  anticipate  more  tlian  we  enjoy  ?  The 
lightning  is  an  exaggeration  of  the  light.  Exaggerated 
history  is  poetry,  and  truth  referred  to  a  new  standard. 
To  a  small  man  every  greater  is  an  exaggeration.  Ho 
who  cannot  exaggerate  is  not  qualified  to  utter  truth. 
No  truth,  we  think,  was  ever  expressed  but  with  this  sort 
of  emphasis,  so  that  for  the  time  there  seemed  to  be  no 
other.  Moreover,  you  must  speak  loud  to  those  who 
are  hard  of  hearing,  and  so  you  ac(iuire  a  habit  of  shout- 
ing to  those  who  are  not.  By  an  immense  exaggeration 
we  appreciate  our  Greek  poetry  and  philosophy,  and 
Egyptian  ruins ;  our  Shakespeares  and  Miltons,  our 
Liberty  and  Christianity.  We  give  importance  to  this 
hour  over  all  other  hours.  We  do  not  live  by  justice, 
but  by  grace.  As  the  sort  of  justice  which  concerns  us 
in  our  daily  intercourse  is  not  that  administered  by  the 
judge,  so  the  historical  justice  which  we  prize  is  not 
arrived  at  by  nicely  balancing  the  evidence.  In  order 
to  appreciate  any,  even  the  humblest  man,  you  must 
first,  by  some  good  fortune,  have  acquired  a  sentiment 
of  ad  I  \iration,  even  of  reverence,  for  him,  and  there 
never  were  such  exaggerators  as  these. 

To  try  him  by  the  German  rule  of  referring  an  author 
to  his  own  standard,  we  will  quote  the  following  from 
Carlyle's  remarks  on  history,  and  leave  the  reader  to 


i^ 


246 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  AND  IIIS  WORKS. 


consider  how  far  his  practice  has  been  consistent  with 
his  theory.  "  Truly,  it'  History  is  Philosophy  teaching 
by  Experience,  the  writer  fitted  to  compose  history  is 
hitherto  an  unknown  man.  The  Experience  itself  would 
require  All-knowledge  to  record  it,  were  the  All-wisdom, 
needful  for  such  Philosophy  as  would  interpret  it,  to  be 
had  for  asking.  Better  were  it  that  mere  earthly  Histo- 
rians should  lower  such  pretensions,  more  suitable  for 
Omniscience  than  for  human  science  ;  and  aiming  only 
at  some  picture  of  the  things  acted,  which  picture  itself 
will  at  best  be  a  poor  approximation,  leave  the  inscru- 
table purport  of  them  an  acknowledged  secret ;  or,  at 
most,  in  referent  faith,  far  different  from  that  teaching 
of  Philosophy,  pause  over  the  mysterious  vestiges  of 
Him  whose  path  is  in  the  great  deep  of  Time,  whom 
History  indeed  reveals,  but  only  all  History,  and  in 
Eternity,  will  clearly  reveal." 


)i 


Carlyle  is  a  critic  who  lives  in  London  to  tell  this 
generation  who  have  been  the  gi-eat  men  of  our  race. 
We  have  read  that  on  some  exposed  place  in  the  city  of 
Geneva,  they  have  fixed  a  brazen  indicator  for  the  use  of 
travellers,  with  the  names  of  the  mountain  summits  in  the 
horizon  marked  upon  it,  "  so  that  by  taking  sight  across 
the  index  you  can  distinguish  them  at  once.  You  will 
not  mistake  Mont  Blanc,  if  you  see  him,  but  until  you 
get  accustomed  to  the  panorama,  you  may  easily  mistake 
one  of  his  court  for  the  king."  It  stands  there  a  piece 
of  mute  brass,  that  seems  nevertheless  to  know  in  what 
vicinity  it  is  :  and  there  perchance  it  will  stand,  when 
the  nation  that  placed  it  there  has  passed  away,  still  iu 
sympathy  with  the  mountains,  forever  discriminating  in 
the  desert. 


#♦ 


'M^ 


THOMAS   CAKLYLE  AND   IIIS   WORKS. 


247 


it  witli 
;aching 
tory  is 
would 
.visdom, 
t,  to  be 
Ilisto- 
ible  for 
only 
re  itself 


mscru- 

;  or,  at 

teaching 

tiges   of 

,  whom 

and  iu 


tell  this 
)ur  race, 
e  city  of 
le  use  of 
its  in  the 
lit  across 
rou  will 
until  you 
'  mistake 
}  a  piece 
in  what 
id,  when 
7,  still  iu 
lating  in 


So,  we  may  say,  stands  this  man,  pointing  as  long  as 
he  Uves,  in  obedience  to  some  spiritiiiil  niagnctisin,  to 
the  summits  in  the  historical  horizon,  for  the  guidance 
of  his  fellows. 

Truly,  our  greatest  blessings  are  very  cheap.  To  have 
our  sunlight  without  paying  for  it,  without  any  duty 
levied,  —  to  have  our  poet  there  in  England,  to  fur- 
nish us  entertainment,  and,  what  is  better,  provocation, 
from  year  to  year,  all  our  lives  long,  to  make  the  world 
seem  richer  for  us,  the  age  more  respectable,  and  life 
better  worth  the  living,  —  all  without  expense  of  ac- 
knowledgment even,  but  silently  accepted  out  of  the  east, 
like  morning  light  as  a  matter  of  course. 


i#i*i 


LIFE  WITHOUT   PRINCIPLE.* 


At  a  lyceum,  not  lorif;  since,  I  felt  that  the  Icclurer 
had  chosen  a  theme  too  foreign  to  himself,  and  so  failed 
to  interest  me  as  much  as  he  might  have  done.  He  de- 
scribed things  not  in  or  near  to  his  heart,  but  toward  his 
extremities  and  superficies.  There  was,  in  this  sense, 
no  truly  central  or  centralizing  thought  in  the  lecture. 
I  would  have  had  him  deal  with  his  privatest  experience, 
as  the  poet  does.  The  greatest  compliment  that  was 
ever  paid  me  was  when  one  asked  me  what  /  thought^ 
and  attended  to  my  answer.  I  am  surprised,  as  well  as 
delighted,  when  this  happens,  it  is  such  a  rare  use  he 
would  make  of  me,  as  if  he  were  acquainted  with  the 
tool.  Commonly,  if  men  want  anything  of  me,  it  is  only 
to  know  how  many  acres  I  make  of  their  land,  —  since 
I  am  a  surveyor,  —  or,  at  most,  what  trivial  news  I  have 
burdened  myself  with.  They  never  will  go  to  law  for 
my  meat ;  they  prefer  the  shell.  A  man  once  came  a 
considerable  distance  to  ask  me  to  lecture  on  Slavery ; 
but  on  conversing  with  him,  I  found  that  he  and  his 
clique  exj^ected  seven  eighths  of  the  lecture  to  be  theirs, 
and  only  one  eighth  mine ;  so  I  declined.  I  take  it  for 
granted,  when  I  am  invited  to  lecture  anywhere,  —  for 
I  have  had  a  little  experience  in  that  business,  —  that 
there  is  a  desire  to  hear  what  /  think  on  some  subject, 


*  Atlantic  Monthly,  Boston,  October,  1 563. 


LIFE  WITHOUT   rRINCIl'LK. 


211) 


though  I  may  be  the  greatest  fool  in  the  country,  —  and 
not  that  I  should  say  pleasant  things  merely,  or  such  as 
the  audience  will  assent  to;  and  I  resolve,  acconlingly, 
that  I  will  give  them  a  strong  dose  of  myself.  They 
have  sent  for  me,  and  engaged  to  pay  for  me,  and  I  am 
determined  that  tliey  shall  have  me,  though  I  bore  them 
beyond  all  precedent. 

So  now  I  would  say  something  similar  to  you,  my 
readers.  Since  you  are  my  readers,  and  I  have  not 
been  much  of  a  traveller,  I  will  not  talk  about  people  a 
thousand  miles  off,  Init  come  as  near  home  as  I  can. 
As  the  tim'>  is  short,  I  will  le.'5vc  out  all  the  llattery, 
and  retain  all  the  criticism 

Let  us  consider  the  way  in  which  wo  spf  nd  our  lives. 

This  world  is  a  place  of  business  What  an  infinite 
bustle  !  I  am  awaked  almost  ever}  n.ght  by  the  jjanting 
of  the  locomotive.  It  inter  upfs  my  drcan-.  There  is 
no  sabbath.  It  would  be  glorious  to  see  mankind  at 
leisure  for  once.  It  is  nothing  but  work,  work,  \vr)rk. 
I  cannot  easily  buy  a  blank-book  to  write  thoughts  in  ; 
they  are  commonly  ruled  for  dollars  and  cents.  An 
Irishman,  seeing  me  making  a  minute  in  the  fields,  took 
it  for  granted  that  I  was  calculating  my  wages.  If  a 
man  was  tossed  out  of  a  window  when  an  infant,  and  so 
made  a  cripple  for  life,  or  scared  out  of  his  wits  by  the 
Indians,  it  is  r^  ii^tted  chiefly  because  he  was  thus 
incapacitated  for  —  business  !  I  think  that  there  is  noth- 
ing, not  even  crime,  more  opposed  to  poetry,  to  philoso- 
phy, ay,  to  life  itself,  than  this  incessant  business. 

There  is  a  coarse  and  boisterous  money-making  fellow 

m  the  outskirts  of  our  town,  who  is  going  to  build  a 

bank-wall  under  the  hill  along  the  edge  of  his  meadow. 

The  powers  have  put  this  into  his  head  to  keep  him  out 
11* 


',,-, 
.«.' 


W' 


250 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


of  misclilef,  and  he  wishes  rae  to  spend  three  weeks 
digf^ing  there  with  him.  The  result  will  be  that  he  will 
perhaps  get  some  more  money  to  hoard,  and  leave  for 
his  heirs  to  spend  foolishly.  If  I  do  this,  most  will 
commend  me  as  an  industrious  and  hard-working  man  ; 
but  if  I  choose  to  devote  myself  to  certain  labors  which 
yield  more  real  profit,  though  but  little  money,  they 
may  be  inclined  to  look  on  rae  as  an  idler.  Neverthe- 
less, as  I  do  not  need  the  police  of  meaningless  labor  to 
regulate  me,  and  do  not  see  anything  absolutely  praise- 
worthy in  this  fellow's  undertaking,  any  more  than  in 
many  an  enterprise  of  our  own  or  foreign  governments, 
however  amusing  it  may  be  to  him  or  them,  I  prefer  to 
finish  my  education  at  a  different  school. 

If  a  man  walk  in  the  woods  for  love  of  them  half  of 
each  day,  he  is  in  danger  of  being  regarded  as  a  loafer ; 
but  if  he  spends  his  whole  day  as  a  si)eculator,  shearing 
off  those  woods  and  making  earth  bald  before  her  time, 
he  is  esteemed  an  industrious  and  enterprising  citizen. 
As  if  a  town  had  no  interest  in  its  forests  but  to  cut 
them  down  ! 

Most  men  would  feel  insulted,  if  it  w^cre  proposed  to 
employ  them  in  throwing  stones  over  a  wall,  and  then  in 
throwing  them  back,  merely  that  they  might  earn  their 
■wages.  But  many  are  no  more  worthily  employed  now. 
For  instance :  just  after  sunrise,  one  summer  morning, 
I  noticed  one  of  my  neighbors  walking  beside  his  team, 
which  was  slowly  drawing  a  heavy  hewn  stone  swung 
under  the  axle,  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  indus- 
try,—  his  day's  work  begun, — his  brow  commenced  to 
sweat,  —  a  reproach  to  all  sluggai-ds  and  idlers,  —  paus- 
ing al)reast  the  shouliha-s  of  his  oxen,  and  half  turning 
round  with  a  flourish  of  his  merciful  whip,  while  they 


l^^ 


LIFE   WITHOUT   i'lJLN'CIPLt:. 


251 


gained  their  length  on  him.  A-^d  I  thought,  Such  is 
the  labor  which  the  American  Cougress  exists  to  protect, 
—  honest,  manly  toil,  —  honest  as  the  day  is  lung, — 
that  makes  his  bread  taste  sweet,  and  keeps  society 
sweet,  —  which  all  men  respect  and  have  consecrated : 
one  of  the  sacred  band,  doing  the  needful  but  irksome 
drudgery.  Indeed,  I  felt  a  slight  reproach,  because  I 
observed  this  from  a  window,  and  was  not  abroad  and 
stirring  about  a  similar  business.  The  day  went  by, 
and  at  evening  I  pa>sed  the  yard  of  another  neighbor, 
who  keeps  many  servants,  and  spends  much  money  fool- 
ishly, while  he  adds  nothing  to  the  common  stock,  and 
there  I  saw  the  stone  of  the  morning  lying  beside  a 
whimsical  structure  intended  to  adorn  this  Lord  Timo- 
thy Dexter's  premises,  and  the  dignity  forthwith  departed 
from  the  teamster's  labor,  in  my  eyes.  In  my  opinion, 
the  sun  was  made  to  light  worthier  toil  than  this.  I 
may  add,  that  his  employer  has  since  run  olF,  in  debt  to 
u  good  part  of  tiio  town,  and,  after  passing  through 
Chancery,  has  settled  somewhere  else,  there  to  become 
once  more  a  patron  of  the  arts. 

The  ways  by  which  you  may  get  money  almost  with- 
out exception  lead  downward.  To  have  done  anything 
by  which  you  earned  money  mereltj  is  to  have  been  truly 
idle  or  worse.  If  the  laborer  gets  no  more  than  the 
wages  which  his  employer  jjays  him,  he  is  cheated,  he 
cheats  himself.  If  you  would  get  money  as  a  writer  or 
lecturer,  you  must  be  popular,  which  is  to  go  down  per- 
pendicularly. Those  services  which  the  community 
will  most  readily  pay  for,  it  is  most  disagreealtle  to  ren- 
der. You  are  paid  for  being  something  less  than  a  man. 
The  State  does  not  commonly  reward  a  genius  any 
more  widely.     J^vcii  the  puel-hiur<.'ale  would  rather  not 


I' 


% 


252 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRIKCIPLE. 


have  to  celebrate  the  accidents  of  royalty.  He  must 
be  bribed  with  a  pipe  of  wine  ;  and  perhaps  another  poet 
is  called  away  from  his  muse  to  gauge  that  very  pipe. 
As  for  my  own  business,  even  that  kind  of  surveying 
"which  I  could  do  with  most  satisfaction,  my  employers  do 
not  want.  They  would  prefer  that  I  should  do  my  work 
coarsely  and  not  too  well,  ay,  not  well  enough.  When 
I  observe  that  there  are  different  ways  of  surveying,  my 
employer  commonly  asks  which  will  give  him  the  most 
land,  not  which  is  most  correct.  I  once  invented  a  rule 
for  measuring  cord-wood,  and  tried  to  introduce  it  in 
Boston ;  but  the  measurer  there  told  me  that  the  sellers 
did  not  wish  to  have  their  wood  measured  correctly,  — 
that  he  was  already  too  accurate  for  them,  and  therefore 
they  commonly  got  their  wood  measured  in  Charlestown 
before  crossing  the  bridge. 

The  aim  of  the  laborer  should  be,  not  to  get  his  living, 
to  get  "  a  good  job,"  but  to  perform  well  a  certain  work ; 
and,  even  in  a  pecuniary  sense,  it  would  be  economy  for 
a  town  to  pay  its  laborers  so  well  that  they  would  not 
feel  that  they  were  working  for  low  ends,  as  for  a  liveli- 
hood merely,  but  for  scientific,  or  even  moral  ends.  Do 
not  hire  a  man  who  does  your  work  for  money,  but  him 
who  does  it  for  love  of  it. 

It  is  remarkable  that  there  are  few  men  so  well  em- 
ployed, so  much  to  their  minds,  but  that  a  little  money 
or  fame  would  commonly  buy  them  off  from  their  pres- 
ent pursuit.  I  see  advertisements  for  active  young 
men,  as  if  activity  were  the  whole  of  a  young  man's 
capital.  Yet  I  have  been  surprised  when  one  has  with 
confidence  proposed  to  rae,  a  grown  man,  to  embark  in 
some  enterprise  of  his,  as  if  I  had  absolutely  nothing  to 
do,  my   life  having  been   a  complete   failure  hitherto. 


LIFE  WITHOUT   PRINCirLi:. 


253 


i 


What  a  doubtful  compliment  this  is  to  pay  me  !  As  if  ho 
liad  met  me  half-way  across  the  ocean  beating  up  against 
the  wind,  but  bound  nowhere,  and  proposed  to  me  to  go 
along  with  him  !  If  I  did,  what  do  you  think  the  un- 
derwriters would  say  ?  No,  no !  I  am  not  without 
employment  at  this  stage  of  the  voyage.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  saw  an  advertisement  for  able-bodied  seamen, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  sauntering  in  my  native  port,  and  as 
soon  as  I  came  of  age  I  embarked. 

The  community  has  no  bribe  that  will  tempt  a  wise 
man.  You  may  raise  money  enough  to  tunnel  a  moun- 
tain, but  you  cannot  raise  money  enough  to  hire  a  man 
who  is  minding  his  own  business.  An  eilicient  and 
valuable  man  does  what  he  can,  whether  the  comnunwty 
pay  him  for  it  or  not.  The  inelUcient  oiler  their  iii- 
elliciency  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  are  forever  expecting 
to  be  put  into  ollice.  One  would  suppose  that  they 
were  rarely  disajjpointed. 

Perhaps  I  am  more  than  usually  jealous  with  respect 
to  my  freedom.  I  feel  that  my  connection  with  and 
obligation  to  society  are  still  very  slight  and  transient. 
Those  slight  labors  which  afford  me  a  livelihood,  and  by 
which  it  is  allowed  that  I  am  to  some  extent  serviceable 
to  my  contemp(.traries,  are  as  yet  commonly  a  jtleasure 
to  me,  and  I  am  not  often  reminded  that  they  are  a  ne- 
cessity. So  far  I  am  successful,  liut  I  foresee,  that, 
if  my  wants  should  be  much  increased,  the  labor  re- 
quired to  supply  them  would  become  a  drudgery.  If  I 
should  sell  both  my  forenoons  and  afternoons  to  society, 
as  most  appear  to  do,  I  am  sure,  that  for  me  ther(j 
would  be  nothing  left  worth  living  for.  I  trust  that  I 
shall  never  thus  sell  my  birthright  for  a  mess  of  [)ottage. 
1  wish  to  suggest  that  a  man  may  be  very  iiulustiitjus, 


w 


I! 


254 


LIFE   WITHOUT   PRINCIP'^E. 


*| 


ii»'l 


\,  ■ ..» 


v- 


and  yet  not  spend  lii.>5  time  Avell.  There  is  no  more 
fatal  blunderer  than  lie  who  consumes  the  greater  part 
of  liis  life  getting  his  living.  All  great  enterprises  are 
self-supporting.  The  poet,  for  instance,  must  sustain 
his  body  by  his  poetry,  as  a  steam  planing-mill  feeds  its 
boilers  with  the  shavings  it  makes.  You  must  get  your 
living  by  loving.  But  as  it  is  said  of  the  merchants 
that  ninety-seven  in  a  hundred  fail,  so  the  life  of  men 
generally,  tried  by  this  standard,  is  a  failure,  and  bank- 
ruptcy may  be  surely  prophesied. 

Merely  to  come  into  the  world  the  heir  of  a  fortune  is 
not  to  be  born,  but  to  l)e  still-born,  rather.  To  be  sui> 
ported  by  the  charity  of  friends,  or  a  government-pen- 
sion,—  provided  you  continue  to  breathe,  —  by  whatever 
fine  synonymes  you  dcscril)e  tiiese  relations,  is  to  go  into 
the  almshouse.  On  Sundays  the  poor  debtor  goes  to 
church  to  take  an  account  of  stock,  and  finds,  of  course, 
that  his  outgoes  have  been  greater  than  his  income.  In 
tlie  Catholic  Ciiurcii,  especially,  they  go  into  Chancery, 
make  a  clean  confessioui,  give  up  all,  and  think  to  start 
a<jrain.  Thus  men  will  lie  on  their  backs,  talking  about 
the  fall  of  man,  and  never  make  an  effort  to  get  up. 

As  for  the  comparative  demand  which  men  make  on 
life,  it  is  an  important  dilference  between  two,  that  the 
one  is  satisfied  with  a  level  success,  that  his  marks  can 
all  be  hit  by  point-blank  shots,  but  the  other,  however 
low  luid  unsuccessful  his  life  may  be,  constantly  levales 
his  aim,  though  at  a  very  slight  angle  to  the  horizon.  I 
Fhculd  much  rather  be  the  last  man,  —  though,  as  the 
Orientals  say,  "  Greatness  doth  not  approach  him  who  is 
forever  looking  down  ;  and  all  those  who  are  looking 
high  are  growing  poor." 

It  is  remarkable  that  there  is  little  oi"  nothing  to  be 


LIFE  WITHOUT  riUNCIPLE. 


255 


remembered  written  ou  tlie  sulyect  of  getting  a  living : 
how  to  make  getting  a  living  not  merely  honest  and 
honorable,  but  altogether  inviting  and  glorious ;  for  if 
getting  a  living  is  not  so,  then  living  is  not.  One  would 
think,  from  looking  at  literature,  that  this  question  had 
never  disturbed  a  solitary  individual's  musings.  Is  it 
that  men  are  too  much  disgusted  with  their  experience  to 
speak  of  it  ?  The  lesson  of  value  which  money  teaches, 
which  the  Author  of  the  Universe  has  taken  so  much 
pains  to  teach  us,  we  are  inclined  to  skip  altogether.  As 
for  the  means  of  living,  it  is  wonderful  how  indifferent 
men  of  all  classes  are  about  it,  even  reformers,  so 
called,  —  whether  they  inherit,  or  earn,  or  steal  it.  I 
think  that  Society  has  dune  nothing  for  us  in  this  respect, 
or  at  least  has  undone  what  she  h[is  done.  Cold  and' 
hunger  seem  more  friendly  to  my  nature  than  those 
methods  which  men  have  adopted  and  advise  to  ward 
them  otf. 

The  title  ivise  is,  for  the  most  part,  falsely  ap[)lied. 
How  can  one  be  a  wise  man,  if  he  does  not  know  any 
better  how  to  live  than  other  men  ?  —  if  he  is  only  more 
cunning  and  intellectually  subtle  ?  Does  Wisdom  work 
in  a  tread-mill  ?  or  does  she  teach  how  to  succeed  by  her 
exatnple  ?  Is  there  any  such  thing  as  wisdom  not  ai){)lied 
to  lif(»?  Is  she  merely  the  miller  who  grinds  the  fmest 
logic  ?  It  is  pertinent  to  ask  if  Plato  got  his  living  in  a 
better  way  or  more  successfully  than  liis  contempora- 
ries,—  or  did  he  succumb  to  the  diiriculties  of  life  like 
other  men  ?  Did  he  seem  to  prevjiil  over  some  of  tiieni 
merely  by  indifference,  or  by  assuming  grand  airs?  or 
find  it  easier  to  live,  because  his  aunt  remembered  him 
in  her  will  ?  The  ways  in  which  most  men  get  their 
living,  that  is,  live,  are  mere  make-shifts,  and  a  t-hiiking 


i 


t 


I 


25G 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


of  the  real  business  of  life,  —  chiefly  because  tliey  do  not 
know,  but  partly  because  they  do  not  mean,  any  better. 

The  rush  to  California,  for  instance,  and  the  atti- 
tude, not  merely  of  mercliants,  but  of  philosophers  and 
prophets,  so  called,  in  relation  to  it,  reflect  the  greatest 
disgrace  on  mankind.  That  so  many  are  ready  to  live  by 
luck,  and  so  get  the  means  of  commanding  the  labor  of 
others  less  lucky,  without  contributing  any  value  to  soci- 
ety !  And  that  is  called  enterprise  !  I  know  of  no  more 
startling  development  of  the  immorality  of  trade,  and  all 
the  common  modes  of  getting  a  living.  The  philosophy 
and  poetry  and  religion  of  such  a  mankind  are  not  worth 
the  dust  of  a  putF-ball.  The  hog  that  gets  his  living  by 
rooting,  stirring  up  the  soil  so,  would  be  ashamed  of  such 
company.  If  I  could  command  the  wealth  of  all  the 
worlds  by  lifting  my  finger,  I  would  not  pay  such  a  price 
for  it.  Even  Mahomet  knew  that  God  did  not  make 
this  world  in  jest.  It  makes  God  to  be  a  moneyed  gen- 
tleman who  scatters  a  handful  of  pennies  in  order  to  see 
mankind  scramble  for  them.  Tlie  world's  raffle  !  A 
subsistence  in  the  domains  of  Nature  a  tiling  to  be  raffled 
for  !  What  a  comment,  what  a  satire,  on  our  institutions  ! 
The  conclusion  will  be,  that  mankind  will  hang  itself 
upon  a  tree.  And  have  all  the  precepts  in  all  the  Bibles 
taught  men  only  this  ?  and  is  the  last  and  most  admirable 
invention  of  the  human  race  only  an  improved  muck- 
rake ?  Is  this  the  ground  on  which  Orientals  and  Oc- 
cidentals meet  ?  Did  God  direct  us  so  to  get  our  living, 
digging  where  we  never  planted,  —  and  He  would,  per- 
chance, reward  us  with  lumps  of  gold  ? 

God  gave  the  righteous  man  a  certificate  entitling  him 
to  food  and  raiment,  but  tlie  unrighteous  man  found  a 
fac'sunile  of  the  same  in  God's  cofliers,  and  appropriated 


[ 


'4'^ 


"■'v£4 


LIFE   WITHOUT  TRIXCIPLE. 


257 


it,  and  obtained  food  and  raiment  like  the  former.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  extensive  systems  of  counterfeiting  that 
the  worM  has  seen.  I  did  not  know  that  mankind  were 
suffering  for  want  of  gold.  I  have  seen  a  little  of  it.  I 
know  that  it  is  very  malleable,  but  not  so  malleable  as 
wit.  A  grain  of  gold  will  gild  a  great  surface,  but  not  so 
much  as  a  grain  of  wisdom. 

The  gold-digger  in  the  ravines  of  the  mountains  is  as 
much  a  gambler  as  his  fellow  in  the  saloons  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. What  diderence  does  it  make,  whether  you  shake 
dirt  or  shake  dice?  If  you  win,  society  is  the  loser. 
The  gold-digger  is  the  enemy  of  the  honest  laborer, 
whatever  cheeks  and  compensations  there  may  be.  It  is 
not  enough  to  tell  me  that  you  worked  hard  to  get  your 
gold.  So  does  the  Devil  work  hard.  The  way  of  trans- 
gressors may  be  hard  in  many  respects.  The  humblest 
observer  who  goes  to  the  mines  sees  and  says  that  gold- 
digging  is  of  the  character  of  a  lottery ;  the  gold  thus  ob- 
tained is  not  the  same  thing  with  the  wages  of  honest 
toil.  But,  practically,  he  forgets  what  he  has  seen,  for 
he  has  seen  only  the  fact,  not  the  principle,  and  goes 
into  trade  there,  that  is,  buys  a  ticket  in  what  commonly 
proves  another  lottery,  where  the  fact  is  not  so  obvious. 

After  reading  Hewitt's  account  of  the  Australian  gold- 
diggings  one  evening,  I  had  in  my  mind's  eye,  all  night, 
the  numerous  valleys,  with  their  streams,  all  cut  up  with 
foul  pits,  from  ten  to  one  hundred  feet  deep,  and  half  a 
dozen  feet  across,  as  close  as  they  can  be  dug,  and  partly 
filled  with  water,  —  the  locality  to  which  men  furiously 
rush  to  ])robe  for  their  fortunes,  —  uncertain  where  they 
shall  break  ground,  —  not  knowing  but  the  gold  is  under 
their  camp  itself,  —  sometimes  digging  one  hundred  and 
sixty  feet  before  they  strike  the  vein,  or  then  missing  it 


I 


i 


II 


i 


258 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


by  a  foot,  —  turned  into  demons,  and  regardless  of  each 
other's  rights,  in  their  thirst  for  riches,  —  whole  valleys, 
for  thirty  miles,  suddenly  honeycombed  by  the  pits  of 
the  miners,  so  that  even  hundreds  are  drowned  in  them,  — 
standing  in  water,  and  covered  with  mud  and  clay,  they 
work  night  and  day,  dying  of  exposure  and  disease. 
Having  read  this,  and  partly  forgotten  it,  I  was  thinking, 
accidentally,  of  my  own  unsatisfactory  life,  doing  as  others 
do ;  and  with  that  vision  of  the  diggings  still  before  me, 
I  asked  myself,  why  /might  not  be  washing  some  gold 
daily,  though  it  were  only  the  finest  particles,  —  why  / 
might  not  sink  a  shaft  down  to  the  gold  within  me,  and 
work  that  mine.  There  is  a  Ballarat,  a  Bendigo  for 
you,  —  what  though  it  were  a  sulky-gully  ?  At  any 
rate,  I  might  pursue  some  path,  however  solitary  and  nar- 
row and  crooked,  in  which  I  could  walk  with  love  and 
reverence.  Wherever  a  man  separates  from  the  multi- 
tude, and  goes  his  own  way  in  this  mood,  there  indeed  is 
a  fork  in  the  road,  though  ordinary  travellers  may  see 
only  a  gap  in  the  paling.  Ilis  solitary  path  across-lots 
•will  turn  out  the  higher  way  of  the  two. 

Men  rush  to  California  and  Australia  as  if  the  true 
gold  were  to  be  found  in  that  direction  ;  but  that  is  to 
go  to  the  very  opposite  extreme  to  where  it  lies.  They 
go  prospecting  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  true 
lead,  and  are  most  unfortunate  when  they  think  them- 
selves most  successful.  Is  not  our  native  soil  auriferous  ? 
Does  not  a  stream  from  the  golden  mountains  flow 
through  our  native  valley  ?  and  has  not  this  for  more  than 
geologic  ages  been  bringing  down  the  shining  particles 
and  forming  the  nuggets  for  us  ?  Yet,  strange  to  tell,  if 
a  digger  steal  away,  prospecting  for  this  true  gold,  into 
the  unexplored  solitudes  around  us,  there  is  no  danger 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCirLE. 


250 


of  each 
valleys, 
I)its  of 
them,  — 
ay,  they 
fliseai-e. 
thinking, 
s  others 
ore  me, 
me  gold 
-  why  / 
me,  and 
digo  for 
At  any 
and  nar- 
love  and 
le  multi- 
indeed  is 
may  see 
jross-Iots 

the  true 
hat  is  to 
•  They 
the  true 
k  them- 
•iferous  ? 
ns  flow 
ore  than 
^articles 
o  tell,  if 
aid,  into 
dauirer 


that  any  will  dog  his  steps,  and  endeavor  to  supplant  him. 
He  may  claim  and  undermine  the  whole  valley  even, 
both  the  cultivated  and  the  uncultivated  portions,  his 
whole  life  long  in  peace,  for  no  one  will  ever  dispute  his 
claim.  They  will  not  mind  his  cradles  or  his  toms.  He 
is  not  confined  to  a  claim  twelve  feet  square,  as  at  Balla- 
rat,  but  may  mine  anywhere,  and  wash  the  whole  wide 
world  in  his  tom. 

Howitt  says  of  the  man  who  found  ihe  great  nugget 
which  weighed  twenty-eight  pounds,  at  the  Bendigo  dig- 
gings in  Australia :  "  He  soon  began  to  drink  ;  got  a 
horse,  and  rode  all  about,  generally  at  full  gallop,  and, 
when  he  met  people,  called  out  to  inquire  if  they  knew 
who  he  was,  and  then  kindly  informed  them  that  he  was 
*  the  bloody  wretch  that  had  found  the  nugget.'  At  last 
he  rode  full  speed  against  a  tree,  and  nearly  knocked 
his  brains  out."  I  think,  however,  there  was  no  danger 
of  that,  for  he  had  already  knocked  his  brains  out  against 
the  nugget.  Howitt  adds,  "  He  is  a  hopelessly  ruined 
man."  But  be  is  a  type  of  the  class.  They  are  all 
fast  men.  Hear  some  of  the  names  of  the  places  where 
they  dig:  "Jackass  Flat,"  — "  Sheep's-Head  Gully,"  — 
"Murderer's  Bar,"  etc.  Is  there  no  sati"e  in  these 
names  ?  Let  them  carry  their  ill-gotten  wealth  where 
they  will,  I  am  thinking  it  will  still  be  "  Jackass  Flat," 
if  not  "  Murderer's  Bar,"  where  they  live. 

The  last  resource  of  our  energy  has  been  the  robbing 
of  graveyards  on  the  Isthmus  of  Darien,  an  enterprise 
which  appears  to  be  but  in  its  infancy  ;  for,  according  to 
late  accounts,  an  act  has  passed  its  second  reading  in  the 
legislature  of  New  Granada,  regulating  this  kind  of  min- 
ing ;  and  a  correspondent  of  the  "  Tribune  *'  writes : 
"  In  the  dry  season,  when  the  weather  will  permit  of  the 


I   1 


I 


260 


LIFE  WITHOUT   TRIXCIPLE. 


country  being  properly  prospected,  no  doubt  other  rich 
guacfts  [that  is,  graveyards]  will  be  found."  To  emi- 
grants he  says :  "  Do  not  coL.e  before  December ;  take 
the  Isthmus  route  in  preference  to  the  Boca  del  Toro 
one  ;  bring  no  useless  baggage,  and  do  not  cumber  your- 
self with  a  tent ;  but  a  good  pair  of  blankets  will  be 
necessary  ;  a  pick,  shovel,  and  axe  of  good  material  will 
be  almost  all  that  is  required  " :  advice  which  might  have 
been  taken  from  the  "  Burker's  Guide."  And  he  con- 
cludes with  this  line  in  Italics  and  small  capitals  :  "  If 
you  are  doing  icell  at  home,  stay  there,"  which  may 
fairly  be  interpreted  to  mean,  "  l^  you  are  getting  a  good 
living  by  robbing  graveyards  at  home,  stay  there." 

But  why  go  to  California  for  a  text  ?  She  is  the  child 
of  New  P^ngland,  bred  at  her  own  school  and  church. 

It  is  remarkable  that  among  all  the  preachers  there 
are  so  few  moral  teachers.  The  prophets  are  employed 
in  excusing  the  ways  of  men.  IMost  reverend  seniors, 
the  ilhiminati  of  the  age,  tell  me,  with  a  grat  ious,  remi- 
niscent smile,  betwixt  an  aspiration  and  a  shudder,  not 
to  be  too  tender  about  these  things,  —  to  lump  all  that, 
that  is,  make  a  lump  of  gold  of  it.  The  highest  advice 
I  have  heard  on  these  subjects  was  grovelling.  The 
burden  of  it  was,  —  It  is  not  worth  your  while  to  under- 
take to  reform  the  world  in  this  particular.  Do  not  a>k 
how  your  bread  is  buttered  ;  it  will  make  you  sick,  if 
you  do,  —  and  the  like.  A  man  had  better  starve  at 
once  than  lose  his  innocence  in  the  process  of  getting  his 
bread.  If  within  the  sophisticated  man  there  is  not  an 
unsophisticated  one,  then  he  is  but  one  of  the  Devil's 
angels.  As  we  grow  old,  we  live  more  coarsely,  we  re- 
lax a  little  in  our  disciplines,  and,  to  some  extent,  cease 
to  obey  our  finest  instincts.     But  we  should  be  fastidious 


LIFE  WITHOUT  TRIXCirLE. 


2C1 


to  tlie  extreme  of  sanity,  disregarding  the  gihe.>  of  those 
who  are  more  unfortunate  than  ourselve--. 

In  our  science  and  philo.-^ophy,  even,  there  is  commonly 
no  true  and  absolute  account  of  things.  The  s})irit  of 
sect  and  bigotry  hasjdanted  its  hoof  amid  the  stars.  You 
liave  only  to  discuss  the  problem,  whether  the  stars  aro 
inhabited  or  not,  in  order  to  discover  it.  AVhy  must  we 
daub  the  heavens  as  well  as  the  earth  ?  It  was  an  un- 
fortunate discovery  that  Dr.  Kane  was  a  Mason,  and 
that  Sir  John  Fran^  lin  was  another.  But  it  was  a  more 
cruel  suggestion  that  possibly  that  was  the  reason  why 
the  former  went  in  search  of  the  latter.  There  is  not  a 
popular  magazine  in  this  country  that  would  dare  to 
print  a  child's  thought  on  important  subjects  without 
comment.  It  must  be  submitted  to  the  D.  D.s.  I 
would  it  were  the  chickadee-dees. 

You  come  from  attending  the  funeral  of  mankind  to 
attend  to  a  natural  phenomenon.  A  little  thought  is 
sexton  to  all  the  world. 

I  hardly  know  an  intellectual  man,  even,  who  is  so 
broad  and  truly  liberal  that  you  can  think  aloud  in  his 
society.  Most  with  whom  you  endeavor  to  talk  soon 
come  to  a  stand  against  some  institution  in  which  they 
appear  to  hold  stock,  —  that  is,  some  particular,  not  uni- 
versal, way  of  viewing  things.  They  will  continually 
thrust  their  own  low  roof,  with  its  narrow  skylight,  be- 
tween you  and  the  sky,  when  it  is  the  unobstructed 
heavens  you  would  view.  Get  out  of  the  way  with  your 
cobwebs,  wash  your  windows,  I  say!  In  some  lyceums 
they  tell  me  that  they  have  voted  to  exclude  the  subject 
of  religion.  But  how  do  I  know  what  their  religion  is, 
and  when  I  am  near  to  or  far  from  it  ?  I  have  walked 
into  such  an  arena  and  done  my  best  to  make  a  clean 


2G2 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


breast  of  wliat  religion  I  hv';  cxpciiencofl,  and  the  au- 
dience never  suspected  win  )  w.i..,  ahoiit.  The  lecture 
was  as  harmless  as  moonshine  to  them.  Whereas,  if  I 
had  read  to  them  the  biography  of  the  greatest  scamps  in 
history,  they  might  have  thought  that  I  had  written  the 
lives  of  the  deacons  of  their  church.  Ordinarily,  the 
inquiry  is.  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  or,  Where  are 
you  going  ?  That  was  a  more  pertinent  question  which 
I  overheard  one  of  my  auditors  put  to  another  once,  — 
"  What  does  he  lecture  for  ?  "  It  made  me  quake  in  my 
shoes. 

To  speak  impartially,  the  best  men  that  I  know  arc 
not  serene,  a  world  in  themselves.  For  the  most  part, 
they  dwell  in  forms,  and  flatter  and  study  effect  only 
more  finely  than  the  rest.  We  select  granite  for  the 
underpinning  of  our  houses  and  barns  ;  we  build  fences 
of  stone  ;  but  we  do  not  ourselves  rest  on  an  underpinning 
of  granitic  truth,  the  lowest  primitive  rock.  Our  sills 
are  rotten.  What  stuff  is  the  man  made  of  who  is  not 
coexistent  in  our  thought  with  the  purest  and  subtilest 
truth  ?  I  often  accuse;  my  finest  acquaintances  of  an  im- 
mense frivolity ;  for,  while  there  are  manners  and  com- 
pliments we  do  not  meet,  we  do  not  teach  one  another 
the  lessons  of  honesty  and  sincerity  that  the  brutes  do, 
or  of  steadiness  and  solidity  that  the  rocks  do.  The  fault 
is  commonly  mutual,  however  ;  for  we  do  not  habitually 
demand  any  more  of  each  other. 

That  excitement  about  Kossuth,  consider  how  character- 
istic, but  superficial,  it  was  !  —  only  another  kind  of  poli- 
tics or  dancing.  Men  were  making  speeches  to  him  all 
over  the  country,  but  each  expressed  only  the  thought, 
or  the  want  of  thought,  of  the  multitude.  No  man  stood 
on  truth.     They  were  merely  banded  together,  as  usual, 


LIFE  WITHOUT   riUNCIPLE. 


203 


one  leaning  on  another,  and  all  together  on  nothhig ;  as 
the  Hindoos  made  the  world  rest  on  an  elephant,  the 
elei)hant  on  a  tortoise,  and  the  tortoise  on  a  serpent,  and 
had  nothing  to  put  under  the  serpent.  For  all  fruit  of 
that  stir  we  have  ti»e  Kossuth  hat. 

Just  so  hollow  and  inetFectual,  for  the  most  part,  is 
our  ordinary  eonversation.  Surface  meets  surface.  AVhen 
our  life  ceases  to  be  inward  and  private,  conversation  de- 
generates into  mere  gossip.  We  rarely  meet  a  man  who 
can  tell  us  any  news  which  he  has  not  read  in  a  news- 
paper, or  been  told  by  his  neighbor  ;  and,  for  the  most 
part,  the  only  difference  between  us  and  our  fellow  is, 
that  he  has  seen  the  newspa[)er,  or  been  out  to  tea,  and 
we  have  not.  In  proj)ortion  as  our  inward  life  fails,  we 
go  more  constantly  and  desperately  to  the  post-office. 
You  may  depend  on  it,  that  the  poor  fellow  who  walks 
away  with  the  greatest  number  of  letters,  proud  of  his 
extensive  correspondence,  has  not  heai'd  from  himself 
this  long  while. 

I  do  not  know  but  it  is  too  much  to  read  one  news- 
paper a  week.  I  have  tried  it  recently,  and  for  so  long 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  not  dwelt  in  my  native 
region.  The  sun,  the  clouds,  the  snow,  the  trees  say 
not  so  much  to  me.  You  cannot  serve  two  masters. 
It  requires  more  than  a  day's  devotion  to  know  and  to 
possess  the  wealth  of  a  day. 

"We  may  well  be  ashamed  to  tell  what  things  we 
have  read  or  heard  in  our  day.  I  do  not  know  why  my 
news  should  be  so  trivial,  —  considering  what  one's 
dreams  and  expectations  are,  why  the  developments 
should  be  so  paltry.  The  news  we  hear,  for  the  most 
part,  is  not  news  to  our  genius.  It  is  the  stalest  repeti- 
tion.    You  are  often  tempted  to  ask,  why  sucli  stress  is 


i 


'^'■1 


i.  !w ' 


2G4 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PMXCIPLL. 


laid  on  a  particular  experience  which  you  have  had,  — 
that,  after  twenty-five  years,  you  should  meet  Ilobbins, 
Registrar  of  Deeds,  again  on  the  sidewalk.  Have  you 
not  budged  an  inch,  then  ?  Such  is  the  daily  news.  Its 
facts  ap[)ear  to  float  in  the  atmosphere,  insignificant  as 
the  sporules  of  fungi,  and  impinge  on  some  neglected 
thallns,  or  surface  of  our  minds,  Avhich  affords  a  basis 
for  tliem.  and  hence  a  parasitic  growth.  We  should 
wash  ourselves  clean  of  such  news.  Of  what  conse- 
quence, though  our  planet  explode,  if  there  is  no 
character  involved  in  the  explosion?  In  health  we 
have  not  the  least  curiosity  about  such  events.  We  do 
not  live  for  idle  amusement.  I  would  not  run  round  a 
corner  to  see  the  world  blow  up. 

All  summer,  and  far  into  the  autumn,  perchance,  you 
unconsciously  went  by  the  newspapers  and  the  news, 
and  nov/  you  find  it  was  because  the  morning  and  the 
evening  were  full  of  news  to  you.  Your  walks  were 
full  of  incidents.  You  attended,  not  to  the  affairs  of 
Europe,  but  to  your  own  affairs  in  IMassachusetts  fields. 
If  you  chance  to  live  and  move  and  have  your  being  in 
that  thin  stratum  in  which  the  events  that  make  the 
news  transpire,  —  thinner  than  the  i)aper  on  which  it  is 
printed,  —  then  these  things  will  fill  the  world  for  you; 
but  if  you  soar  above  or  dive  below  that  plane,  you  can- 
not remember  nor  bj  reminded  of  them.  Really  to  see 
the  sun  rise  or  go  down  every  day,  so  to  relate  ourselves 
to  a  universal  fact,  would  preserve  us  sane  forever. 
Nations!  What  are  nations?  Tartars,  and  Huns, 
nnd  Chinamen  !  Like  insects,  they  swarm.  The  histo- 
rian strives  in  vain  to  make  them  memorable.  It  is  for 
want  of  a  man  that  there  are  so  many  men.  It  is  indi- 
viduals that  populate  the  world.  Any  man  thinking 
may  say  with  the  Spirit  of  Lodin,  — 


\ 


LIFE   WmiOUT   rRINCIPLE. 


265 


"  I  look  down  from  my  iH.'ipht  on  nations, 
And  they  become  ashes  before  me;  — 
Calm  is  my  dwelling  in  the  clouds; 
Pleasant  are  the  great  fields  of  my  rest." 

Pray,  let  us  live  witliout  being  drawn  by  dogs, 
Esquimaux-fashion,  tearing  over  hill  and  dale,  and  bit- 
iiij;  each  other's  ears. 

Not  without  a  slight  shudder  at  the  danger,  I  often 
perceive  bow  near  I  had  corae  to  admitting  into  my 
mind  the  details  of  some  trivial  affair,  —  tbe  news  of 
the  street ;  and  I  am  astonished  to  observe  how  willing 
men  are  to  lumber  their  minds  with  such  rubbish,  —  to 
permit  idle  rumors  and  incidents  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant kind  to  intrude  on  ground  wliich  should  be 
sacred  to  thought.  Shall  the  mind  be  a  public  arena, 
where  the  affairs  of  the  sireet  and  the  gossip  of  the  tea- 
table  chiefly  are  discussed?  Or  shall  it  be  a  ([uarter  of 
heaven  itself,  —  an  hypa^thral  temple,  consecrated  to  the 
pervice  of  the  gods?  I  find  it  so  diflicult  to  dis|;oso  of 
the  few  facts  which  to  me  are  signilicant  that  I  liesitate 
to  burden  my  attention  with  those  which  are  insignifi- 
cant, which  only  a  divine  mind  could  illustrate.  Such 
is,  for  tbe  most  par^,  the  news  in  newspapers  and  con- 
versation. It  is  important  to  preserve  the  mind's 
chastity  in  this  respect.  Think  of  admitting  the  details 
of  a  single  case  of  the  criminal  court  into  our  thoughts, 
to  stalk  profancl}  through  their  very  sanctum  sanclonim 
for  an  hour,  ay,  tor  man^-  hours  !  to  make  a  very  bar- 
room of  the  mind's  inmost  apartment,  as  if  for  so  long 
the  dust  of  the  street  had  occupied  us,  — the  very  street 
itself,  with  all  its  travel,  its  bu.-tle,  and  filth,  had  passed 
through  our  thoughts'  shrine!  "Would  it  not  be  an 
intellectual  and  moral  suicide  ?  When  I  have  been 
12 


fi  'I 


.f  I 


#1  ., 


i 


2G6 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PKINCIPLE. 


compelled  to  sit  spectator  and  auditor  in  a  court-room  for 
some  hours,  and  have  seen  my  neighbors,  who  were  not 
compelled,  stealing  in  from  time  to  time,  and  tiptoeing 
about  with  washed  hands  and  faces,  it  has  appeared  to 
my  mind's  eye,  that,  when  they  took  off  their  hats,  their 
ears  suddenly  expanded  into  vast  hoppers  for  sound, 
between  which  even  their  narrow  heads  were  crowded. 
Like  the  vanes  of  windmills,  they  caught  the  broad,  but 
shallow  stream  of  sound,  whicli,  after  a  few  titillating 
gyrations  in  their  coggy  brains,  passed  out  the  other 
side.  I  wondered  if,  when  they  got  home,  they  were  as 
careful  to  wash  their  ears  as  before  their  hands  and 
faces.  It  has  seemed  to  me,  at  such  a  time,  that  the 
auditors  and  the  witnesses,  the  jury  and  the  counsel,  the 
judge  and  the  criminal  at  the  bar,  —  if  I  may  presume 
him  guilty  before  he  is  convicted,  —  were  all  equally 
criminal,  and  a  thunderbolt  might  be  expected  to  de- 
scend and  consume  them  all  toijether. 

By  all  kinds  of  tra[)S  and  signboards,  threatening  the 
extreme  penalty  of  the  divine  law,  exclude  such  trespass- 
ers from  the  only  ground  whicli  can  be  sacred  to  you. 
It  is  so  hard  to  forget  what  it  is  worse  than  useless  to 
remember !  If  I  am  to  be  a  thoroughfare,  I  prefer  that 
it  be  of  the  mountain-brooks,  the  Parnassian  streams, 
and  not  the  town-sewers.  There  is  inspiration,  that 
gossip  which  comes  to  the  ear  of  the  attentive  mind 
from  the  courts  of  heaven.  There  is  the  profane  and 
stale  revelation  of  the  bar-room  and  the  police  court. 
The  same  ear  is  litted  to  receive  both  communications. 
Only  the  character  of  the  hearer  determines  to  which  it 
Fhall  be  open,  and  to  which  closed.  I  believe  that  the 
mind  can  be  permanently  proianed  by  the  habit  of 
attending  to  trivial  things,  so  that  all  our  thoughts  shall 


I 


■      \ 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


2G7 


be  tinged  with  triviality.  Our  very  intellect  ?hall  be 
macadamized,  as  it  were,  —  its  foundation  broken  into 
f.-agments  for  the  wheels  of  travel  to  roll  over ;  and  if 
you  would  know  what  will  make  the  most  durable 
l)avement,  surpassing  rolled  stones,  spruce  blocks,  and 
asphaltum,  you  have  only  to  look  into  some  of  our 
minds  which  have  been  subjected  to  this  treatment  so 
long. 

If  we  have  thus  desecrated  ourselves,  —  as  who  has 
not?  —  the  remedy  will  be  by  wariness  and  devotion  to 
reconsecrate  ourselves,  and  make  once  more  a  fane 
of  the  mind.  "We  should  treat  our  minds,  that  is, 
ourselves,  as  innocent  and  ingenuous  children,  whose 
guardians  Ave  are,  and  be  careful  what  objects  and  what 
fubjocts  we  thrust  on  their  attention.  Read  not  the 
Times.  Read  the  Eternities.  Conventionalities  are  at 
length  as  bad  as  impurities.  Even  the  facts  of  science 
may  dust  the  mind  by  their  dryness,  unless  they  are  in 
a  sense  effaced  each  morning,  or  rather  rendered  fertile 
by  the  dews  of  fresh  and  living  truth.  Knowledge  does 
not  come  to  us  by  details,  but  in  fla. ;  .  of  light  from 
heaven.  Yes,  every  thought  that  passes  through  the 
mind  helps  to  wear  x\>\  tear  it,  and  Xr*  deepen  the  ruts, 
which,  as  in  the  strc'  '  of  Pom})eii,  evince  how  much 
it  has  been  used.  IIoi^  mmiy  things  there  are  concern- 
ing which  we  migii  well  deliberate  whether  we  had 
better  know  thcn^  — had  bt'ter  let  their  peddling-carts 
be  driven,  even  at  the  slo»vcst  trot  or  walk,  over  that 
bri^lge  of  glorious  span  by  which  wo  trust  to  pass  at  last 
from  the  farthest  brink  of  time  to  the  nearest  shore  of 
eternity!  Have  we  no  culture,  no  refinement,  —  but 
skill  only  to  live  coarsely  aud  serve  the  Devil?  —  to 
acquire  a  litile  \vcrldly  wealth,  or  fame,  or  liberty,  and 


1 


2G8 


LIFE   WITHOUT   TRIXCIPLE. 


make  a  false  show  with  it,  as  if  we  were  all  husk  and 
ehell,  with  no  tender  and  living  kernel  to  us  ?  Shall  our 
institutions  be  like  those  chestnut-burrs  which  contain 
abortive  nuts,  perfect  only  to  prick  the  fingers  ? 

America  is  said  to  be  the  arena  on  which  the  battle  of 
freedom  is  to  be  fought ;  but  surely  it  cannot  be  freedom 
in  a  merely  political  sense  that  is  meant.  Even  if  we 
grant  that  the  American  has  freed  himself  from  a  politi- 
cal tyrant,  he  is  still  the  slave  of  an  economical  and  moral 
tyrant.  Now  that  the  republic, —  the  res-pubh'ca,  —  has 
been  settled,  it  is  time  to  look  after  the  rcs-privata,  — 
the  private  state,  —  to  see,  as  the  lloman  senate  charged 
its  consuls,  "  ne  quid  res-v\iiY at x  detrimenti  capere* " 
that  the^;m"rt<e  state  receive  no  detriment. 

Do  we  call  this  the  land  of  tlio  free  ?  What  is  it  to 
be  free  from  King  George  and  continue  the  slaves  of 
King  Prejudice  ?  What  is  it  to  be  born  free  and  not  to 
live  free  ?  What  is  the  value  of  any  political  freedom, 
but  as  a  means  to  moral  freedom  ?  Is  it  a  freedom  to 
be  slaves,  or  a  freedom  to  be  free,  of  which  ve  boast  ? 
We  are  a  nation  of  politicians,  concerned  about  the  out- 
most defences  only  of  freedom.  It  is  our  children's  chil- 
dren who  may  perchance  be  really  free.  We  tax  our- 
selves unjustly.  There  is  a  part  of  us  which  is  not 
represented.  It  is  taxation  without  representation.  We 
quarter  troops,  we  (quarter  fools  and  cattle  of  all  sons 
upon  ourselves.  We  (quarter  our  gross  bodies  on  oiu' 
poor  souls,  till  the  former  cat  up  all  the  hitter's  sub- 
stance. 

With  respect  to  a  true  culture  and  manhood,  we  are 
essentially  provincial  still,  not  metropolitan,  —  mere 
Jonathans.  We  are  [)rovincial,  because  we  do  not  tind 
at  home  our  standards,  —  because  we  do  not   worshio 


LIFE  WITHOUT   rUIXCIPLE. 


269 


isk  and 
hall  our 
contain 

►attlo  of 
reedom 
sn  if  we 
a  politi- 
(1  moral 
—  has 
vata,  — 
charged 

t  i;5  it  to 

laves  of 
id  not  to 
freedom, 
odora  to 
e  boast  ? 

the  out- 
m's  chil- 
tax  our- 
li  is  not 
)n.  We 
all  sorts 

on  our 
2r's  sub- 

,  we  are 
—  mere 
not  lind 
worship 


truth,  but  the  reflection  of  truth,  —  because  we  ai'e 
warped  and  narrowed  by  an  exclu.sive  devotion  to  trade 
and  commerce  and  manufactures  and  agriculture  and  the 
like,  which  are  but  means,  and  not  the  end. 

So  is  the  English  ParHament  provincial.  Merc  coun- 
try-bum{)kins,  they  betray  themselves,  when  any  more 
important  question  arises  for  them  to  settle,  the  Irish 
question,  for  instance,  —  tlie  Engh.-h  (piestion  why  did  I 
not  say?  Their  natures  are  subdued  to  what  they  work 
in.  Their  ''  good  breeding"  respects  only  secondary  ob- 
jects. Ti.  ■  finest  manners  in  the  world  are  awkwardness 
atid  fjituity,  when  contrasted  with  a  finer  intelligence. 
They  appear  but  as  the  fashions  of  past  da}  s, —  mere 
courtliness,  knee-buckles  and  small-clothes,  out  of  date. 
It  is  the  vice,  but  not  tlie  excellence  of  manners,  that 
they  .'ire  continually  being  deserted  by  the  character  ; 
they  are  cast-olV  clothes  or  shells,  claiiniiig  the  respect 
which  belonged  to  the  living  creature.  You  are  present- 
ed with  the  shells  instead  of  the  meat,  and  it  is  no  ex- 
cuse generally,  that,  in  the  case  of  some  fishes,  the  shells 
are  of  more  "vorth  than  the  meat.  The  man  who  thrusts 
h's  manners  upon  me  does  as  if  he  were  to  insist  on  in- 
troducing me  to  his  cabinet  of  curiosities,  when  I  wished 
to  see  himself.  It  was  not  in  this  sense  that  the  poet 
Decker  called  Christ  "the  tirst  true  gentleman  that  ever 
breathed."  I  repeat,  that  in  this  sense  the  most  sj)lendid 
court  in  Christendom  is  provincial,  having  authority  to 
consult  about  Transali)ine  intercsttj  only,  and  not  the 
ailUirs  of  Home.  A  piaiior  or  proconsul  would  suffice 
to  settle  the  questions  which  absorb  the  attention  of  the 
Engli.>li  Parliament  and  the  American  Congress. 

Government  and  legislation !  these  I  thought  were 
respectable  professions.     We  have  heard  of  heaven-born 


1    i: 


■  •.  I  ■ 


m 


.IV' 


vm 


'I- 

1 


270 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


Numas,  Lycurguses,  and  Solons,  in  the  history  of  the 
worlJ,  whose  names  at  least  may  stand  for  ideal  legisla- 
tors ;  but  think  of  legislating  to  regydate  the  breeding  of 
slaves,  or  the  exportation  of  tobacco  !  What  have  divine 
legislators  to  do  with  the  exportation  or  the  importation  of 
tobacco  ?  what  humane  ones  with  the  breeding  of  slaves  ? 
Suppose  you  were  to  submit  the  question  to  any  son  of 
God,  —  and  has  lie  no  children  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ?  is  it  a  family  which  is  extinct  ?  —  in  what  condi- 
tion would  you  get  it  again  ?  What  shall  a  State  like 
Virginia  say  for  itself  at  the  last  day,  in  which  these 
have  been  the  principal,  the  staple  productions  ?  What 
ground  is  there  for  pri^^-iotism  in  such  a  State  ?  I  derive 
my  facts  from  statistical  tables  which  the  States  them- 
selves have  published. 

A  commerce  that  whitens  every  sea  in  quest  of  nuts 
and  raisins,  and  makes  slaves  of  its  sailors  for  this  pur- 
pose !  I  saw,  the  other  day,  a  vessel  which  had  been 
wrecked,  and  many  lives  lost,  and  her  cargo  of  rags,  ju- 
niper-berries, and  bitter  almonds  were  strewn  along  the 
shore.  It  seemed  hardly  worth  the  while  to  tempt  the 
dangers  of  the  sea  between  Leghorn  and  New  York  for 
the  sake  of  a  cargo  of  juniper-berries  and  bitter  almonds. 
America  sending  to  tiie  Old  World  for  her  bitters !  Id 
not  the  sea-brine,  is  not  shi})wreck,  'jitter  enough  to  make 
the  cup  of  life  go  down  here  ?  Yet  such,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, is  our  boasted  commerce ;  and  there  ai"e  those  who 
style  themselves  statesmen  and  philosophers  who  are  so 
blind  as  to  think  that  progres;?  and  civilization  depend  on 
precisely  ilii.s  kind  of  interchange  and  activity,  —  the 
activity  of  flies  about  a  molasses-hogshead.  Very  well, 
observeo  one,  if  men  were  oyster?.  And  very  well,  an- 
swer I,  if  men  were  mosquitoes. 


LIFE  WITHOUT  rRIN^CIPLE. 


271 


of  the 
legisla- 
(ling  of 
e  divine 
ation  of 
slaves  ? 
son  of 
th  cen- 
condi- 
ate  like 
h  these 
What 
[  derive 
fs  thera- 

of  nuts 
his  pur- 
ad  been 
i-agsju- 
long  the 
uipt  the 
^ork  for 
Imonds. 
rs !     lo 
0  make 
•eat  ex- 
»se  who 
►  are  so 
lend  on 
,  — the 
y  well, 
ell,  an- 


Lieutenant  Ilerndon,  whom  our  Government  sent  to 
explore  the  Amazon,  and,  it  is  said,  to  extend  the  area 
of  slavery,  observed  that  tluM'e  was  wanting  there  "an 
industrious  and  active  population,  who  know  what  the 
comforts  of  life  are,  and  who  have  artificial  wants  to  draw 
out  the  great  resources  of  the  country."  But  what  are 
the  "  artificial  wants  "  to  be  encouraged  ?  Not  the  love 
of  luxuries,  like  the  tobacco  and  slaves  of,  I  believe,  his 
native  Virginia,  nor  the  ice  and  granite  and  other  mate- 
rial wealth  of  our  native  New  England ;  nor  are  "  the 
great  resources  of  a  country"  tluit  fertility  or  barrenness 
of  soil  which  produces  these.  The  chief  want,  in  ^jvery 
State  that  I  have  been  into,  was  a  iiigli  and  earnest  pur- 
pose in  its  inhabitants.  This  alone  draws  out  "•  the 
great  resources  "  of  Nature,  and  at  last  taxes  her  beyond 
her  resources ;  for  man  naturally  dies  out  of  her.  When 
we  want  culture  more  than  potatoes,  and  illumination 
more  than  sugar-plums,  then  the  great  resources  of  a 
world  are  taxed  and  drawn  out,  and  the  result,  or  stajjle 
production,  is,  not  slaves,  nor  operatives,  but  men,  — 
those  rare  fruits  called  heroes,  saints,  poets,  philosophers, 
and  redeemers. 

In  short,  as  a  snow-drift  is  formed  where  there  is  a 
lull  in  the  wind,  so,  one  would  say,  where  there  is  a  lull 
of  truth,  an  institution  springs  up.  But  the  truth  blows 
right  on  over  it,  ne'v  ertheless,  and  at  length  blows  it 
down. 

Wh.at  is  callod  politics  is  comparatively  something  so 
suiierllcial  and  inhuman,  that,  practically,  I  have  never 
LJrly  recognized  that  it  concerns  me  at  all.  The  news- 
papers, I  perceive,  devote  some  of  their  coknnns  specially 
to  politics  or  government  without  charge  ;  and  this,  one 
would  say,  is  all  that  saves  it ;  but,  as  I  love  litei'atiire, 


272 


LIFE  WITHOUT  PRINCIPLE. 


t    .aLi'  i'i 


t       i 


■  ( 


and,  to  some  extent,  the  truth  also,  I  never  read  those 
columns  at  any  rate.  I  do  not  wish  to  blunt  my  sense 
of  right  60  much.  I  have  not  got  to  answer  for  having 
read  a  single  President's  Message.  A  strange  age  of 
the  world  this,  when  empires,  kingdoms,  and  repubhcs 
come  a-begging  to  a  private  man's  door,  and  utter  their 
complaints  at  his  elbow  !  I  cannot  take  up  a  newspaper 
but  I  find  that  some  wretched  government  or  other,  hard 
pushed,  and  on  its  last  legs,  is  interceding  with  me,  the 
reader,  to  vote  for  it,  —  more  importunate  than  an  Ital- 
ian beggar ;  and  if  I  have  a  mind  to  look  at  its  certificate, 
made,  perchance,  by  some  benevolent  merchant's  clerk, 
or  the  skipper  that  brought  it  over,  for  it  cannot  speak  a 
word  of  English  itself,  I  shall  probably  read  of  the  erup- 
tion of  some  Vesuvius,  or  the  overflowing  of  some  Po, 
true  or  forged,  which  brought  it  into  this  condition.  I 
do  not  hesitate,  in  such  a  case,  to  suggest  work,  or  the 
almshouse  ;  or  why  not  keep  its  castle  in  silence,  as  I  do 
commonly  ?  The  poor  President,  what  with  preserving 
his  popularity  and  doing  his  duty,  is  completely  bewil- 
dered. The  newspapers  are  the  ruling  power.  Any 
other  government  is  reduced  to  a  few  marines  at  Fort 
Independence.  If  a  man  neglects  to  read  the  Daily 
Times,  government  will  go  down  on  its  knees  to  him,  for 
this  is  the  only  treason  in  these  days. 

Those  things  which  now  most  engage  the  attention  of 
men,  as  politics  and  the  daily  routine,  are,  it  is  true, 
vital  functions  of  human  society,  but  should  bo  uncon- 
sciously performed,  like  tl  e  corresponding  functions  of 
the  physical  body.  They  are  infra-hunvdu,  a  kind  of 
vegetation.  I  someiimes  awake  to  a  half-consciousness 
of  them  going  on  about  me,  as  a  man  may  become  con- 
scious of  some  of  the  processes  of  digestion  in  a  mor- 


I 


LIFE   WITHOUT   rRLNCII'LE. 


273 


those 
sense 


Lid  state,  and  so  have  the  dysi)cpsia,  as  it  is  called.  It 
is  as  if  a  thinker  submitted  hinisclt'  to  be  rasped  by  tho 
great  gizzard  of  ereation.  Politics  is,  as  it  were,  the 
gizzard  of  society,  full  of  grit  and  gravel,  and  the  two 
political  parties  are  its  two  opposite  halves,  —  some- 
times split  into  quarters,  it  may  be,  which  grind  on  each 
other.  Not  only  individuals,  but  states,  have  thus  a 
confirmed  dyspepsia,  which  expresses  itself,  you  can  im- 
agine by  what  sort  of  eloquence.  Thus  our  life  is  not 
altogether  a  forgetting,  but  also,  alas !  to  a  great  extent, 
a  remembering,  of  that  which  we  should  never  have  been 
conscious  of,  certainly  not  in  our  waking  hours.  Why 
should  we  not  meet,  not  always  as  dyspeptics,  to  tell  our 
bad  dreams,  but  sometimes  as  e^q^eptics,  to  congratulate 
each  other  on  the  ever-glorious  morning?  I  do  not 
make  an  exorbitant  demand,  surely. 


10* 


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WENDELL   PHILLIPS   BEFORE   THE 
CONCORD   LYCEUM.* 

CoNCOKD,  Mass.,  March  12,  1845. 
Mr.  Editor  :  — 

Wo  have  now,  for  the  tliird  winter,  had  our  spirits  re- 
freshed, and  our  faith  in  the  destiny  of  the  Common- 
wealth stren^^thened,  by  the  presence  and  the  eloquence 
of  Wendell  Phillips;  and  we  wish  to  tender  to  him  our 
thanks  and  our  sympathy.  The  admission  of  this  gentle- 
man into  the  Lyceum  has  been  strenuously  opposed  by  a 
respectable  portion  of  our  fellow-citizens,  who  themselves, 
we  trust, —  whose  descendants,  at  least,  we  know, — will 
be  as  faithful  conservers  of  the  true  order,  whenever  that 
shidl  be  the  order  of  the  day,  —  and  in  each  instance 
the  people  have  voted  that  they  ivoulcl  hear  him,  by  com- 
ing themselves  and  bringing  their  friends  to  the  lecture- 
room,  and  being  very  silent  that  they  might  hear.  We 
saw  some  men  and  women,  who  had  long  ago  come  out, 
going  in  once  more  through  the  free  and  hospitable  por- 
tals of  the  Lyceum;  and  many  of  our  neighbors  con- 
fessed, that  they  had  had  a  "  sound  season  "  this  once. 

It  Avas  the  speaker's  aim  to  show  what  the  State,  and 
above  all  the  Church,  had  to  do,  and  now,  alas  !  have 
done,  with  Texas  and  slavery,  and  how  much,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  individual  should  have  to  do  with  Church 
and  State.     These  were  fair  themes,  and  not  mistimed; 

*  From  "  The  Libcratur,"  Miuvli  'JH,  lb45. 


l4j.i':. 


WENDF.LL   rillLLirS  liKl'OKE  CONCOKD   LYCKUM.   275 


and  his  words  were  addressed  to  '"lit  audience,  and  not 
few." 

We  must  give  Mr.  Phillips  the  credit  of  beinp:  :i  clean, 
erect,  and  what  was  once  called  a  consistent  man.  lie 
at  least  is  not  responsible  for  slavery,  nor  for  American 
Independence ;  for  the  h}  {)0crisy  and  superstition  of  tiie 
Church,  nor  the  timidity  and  selfishness  of  the  State  ; 
nor  for  the  indifference  and  willing  ignorance  of  any. 
He  stands  so  distinctly,  so  iirraly,  and  so  effectively  alone, 
and  one  honest  man  is  so  much  more  than  a  hort,  i.uiit 
we  cannot  but  feel  that  he  does  himself  injustic^t  Aiiesi 
he  reminds  of  "the  American  Society,  which  lie  rep- 
resents." ]  rare  that  we  have  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
ing to  so  clear  and  orthodox  a  speaker,  who  obviously 
has  so  i\iw  cracks  or  fhiws  in  his  moral  nature,  —  who, 
having  words  at  his  command  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
has  much  more  than  words,  if  these  should  fail,  in  his 
unrpiestionable  earnestness  and  integrity,  —  and,  aside 
from  their  admiration  at  his  rhetoric,  secures  the  genuine 
respect  of  his  audience,  lie  unconsciously  tells  liis  biog- 
raphy as  he  proceeds,  and  we  see  him  early  and  earnest- 
ly deliberating  on  these  subjects,  and  wisely  and  bravely, 
without  counsel  or  consent  of  any,  occupying  a  ground 
at  first  from  which  the  varying  tides  of  public  opinion 
cannot  drive  him. 

No  one  could  mistake  the  genuine  modesty  and  truth 
with  which  he  afhrmed,  when  speaking  of  the  framers 
of  the  Constitution,  "  I  am  wiser  than  they,"  who  with 
him  has  im})roved  these  sixty  years'  ex})erience  of  its 
working ;  or  the  uncompromising  consistency  and  frank- 
ness of  the  prayer  which  concluded,  not  like  the  Tlianks- 
giving  proclamations,  with  —  "  Gotl  save  the  Common- 
wealth of  Massachusetts,"  but  —  Ciod  dash  it  into  a  thou- 


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WENDELL  rillLLirS  BEFORE 


Band  pieces,  till  there  shall  not  remain  a  fragment  on 
which  a  man  can  stand,  and  dare  not  tell  his  name,  — 
referring  to  the  case  of  Frederick  ;  to  our  dis- 
grace we  know  not  what  to  call  him,  unless  Scotland 
will  lend  us  the  spoils  of  one  of  her  Douglasses,  out  of 
history  or  fiction,  for  a  season,  till  we  be  hospitable  and 
brave  enough  to  hear  his  proper  name,  —  a  fugitive  slave 
in  one  more  sense  than  we ;  who  has  proved  himself  the 
possessor  o^  a  fair  intellect,  and  has  won  a  colorless  rep- 
utation in  these  parts  ;  and  who,  we  trust,  will  be  as 
superior  to  degradation  from  the  sympathies  of  Freedom, 
as  from  the  antipathies  of  Slavery.  When,  said  Mr. 
Phillips,  he  communicated  to  a  New  Bedford  audience, 
the  other  day,  his  purpose  of  writing  his  life,  and  telling 
his  name,  and  the  name  of  his  master,  and  the  place  he 
ran  from,  the  murmur  ran  round  the  room,  and  was  anx- 
iously whispered  by  the  sons  of  the  Pilgrims, "  He  had 
better  not !  "  and  it  was  echoed  under  the  shadow  of  Con- 
cord monument,  "  lie  had  better  not !  " 

TVe  would  fain  express  our  appreciation  of  the  free- 
dom and  steady  wisdom,  so  rare  in  the  reformer,  with 
which  he  declared  that  he  was  not  born  to  abolish  slav- 
ery, but  to  do  right.  "VVe  have  heard  a  few,  a  very  few, 
good  political  speakers,  who  afforded  us  the  pleasure  of 
great  intellectual  power  and  acuteness,  of  soldier-like 
steadiness,  and  of  a  graceful  and  natural  oratory ;  but  in 
this  man  the  audience  might  detect  a  sort  of  moral  prin- 
ciple and  integrity,  which  was  more  stable  than  tlieir 
firmness,  more  discriminating  than  his  own  intellect,  and 
more  graceful  than  his  rhetoric,  which  was  not  working 
for  temporary  or  trivial  ends.  It  is  so  rare  and  encour- 
aging to  listen  to  an  orator  wlio  is  content  with  another 
alliance  than  with  the  pt>puhir  parly,  o.'  c\eu  witli  the 


THE  CONCORD   LYCEUM. 


2i  i 


sympathizing  scliool  of  the  martyrs,  who  can  afford  some- 
times to  be  liis  own  auditor  if  the  mob  stay  away,  and 
hears  himself  without  reproof,  that  we  feel  ourselves  in 
danger  of  slandering  all  mankind  by  allirming,  that  here 
is  one,  who  is  at  the  same  time  an  eloquent  speaker  and 
a  righteous  man. 

Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  the  most  interesting  fact  elicit- 
ed hy  these  addresses,  is  the  readiness  of  the  people  at 
large,  of  whatever  sect  or  party,  to  entertain,  with  good 
will  and  h()s[)itality,  the  most  revolutionary  and  heretical 
opinions,  when  frankly  and  adequately,  and  in  some  sort 
cheerfLilly,  expressed.  8nch  clear  and  candid  declara- 
tion of  opinion  served  like  an  electuary  to  whet  and  clar- 
ify the  intellect  of  all  parties,  and  furnished  each  one 
with  an  additional  arii;ument  for  that  right  he  asserted. 

We  consider  ]Mr.  Phillips  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
and  elTicient  champions  of  a  true  Church  and  State  now 
in  the  field,  and  would  say  to  him,  and  such  as  are  like 
him,  "  God  speed  you."  If  you  know  of  any  cham[)ion 
in  the  ranks  of  his  opj)onen(s,  who  has  the  valor  and 
courtesy  even  of  Paynim  chivalry,  if  not  the  Cln'istian 
graces  and  refinement  of  this  knight,  you  will  do  us  a 
service  by  directing  him  to  these  fields  foithwith,  where 
the  lists  are  now  open,  and  he  shall  be  hospitably  enter- 
tained. For  as  yet  the  Red-cross  knight  has  shown  us 
only  the  gallant  device  upon  his  shield,  and  his  admira- 
ble command  of  his  steed,  prancing  and  curvetting  in  the 
empty  lists  ;  but  wc  wait  to  see  who,  in  the  actual  break- 
ing of  lances,  will  come  tumbling  upon  the  plam. 


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THE   LAST  DAYS   OF  JOHN   BROWN* 


John  Brown's  career  for  the  last  six  weeks  of  his  life 
was  meteor-like,  flashing  through  the  darkness  in  which 
wo  live.  I  know  of  nothing  so  miraculous  in  our  his- 
tory. 

If  any  person,  In  a  lecture  or  conversation  at  that 
time,  cited  any  ancient  example  of  heroism,  such  as  Cato 
or  Tell  or  Winkelried,  passing  over  the  recent  deeds 
and  words  of  Brown,  it  wr.s  felt  by  any  intelligent  au- 
dience of  Northern  men  to  be  tame  and  inexcusably  far- 
fetched. 

For  my  own  part,  I  commonly  attend  more  to  nature 
than  to  man,  but  any  affecting  human  event  may  blind 
our  eyes  to  natural  objects.  I  was  so  absorbed  in  him 
as  to  be  surprised  whenever  I  detected  the  routine  of  the 
natural  world  surviving  still,  or  met  persons  going  about 
their  affairs  indifferent.  It  appeared  strange  to  me  that 
the  "  little  dipper  "  should  be  still  diving  quietly  in  the 
river,  as  of  yore  ;  and  it  suggested  that  this  bird  might 
continue  to  dive  here  when  Concord  should  be  no  more. 

I  felt  that  he,  a  prisoner  in  the  midst  of  his  enemies, 
and  under  sentence  of  death,  if  consulted  as  to  his  next 
step  or  resource,  could  answer  more  wisely  than  all  his 
countrymen  beside.  lie  best  understood  his  position  ;  he 
contemplated  it  most  calmly.     Comi)arativcly,  all  other 

*  Read  at  Nuitli  Klba,  July  4,  IBUO. 


IJ 


TUE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOUN  BROWN. 


279 


men,  North  and  South,  were  bcsiJe  themselves.  Our 
thoughts  could  not  revert  to  any  greater  or  wiser  or  bet- 
ter man  with  whom  to  contrast  liim,  for  he,  then  and 
there,  was  above  them  all.  The  man  this  country  was 
about  to  hang  appeared  the  greatest  and  best  in  it. 

Years  were  not  required  for  a  revolution  of  public 
opinion;  days,  nay  hours,  produced  marked  changes  in 
this  case.  Fifty  who  were  ready  to  say  on  going  into  our 
meeting  in  honor  of  him  in  Concord,  that  he  ought  to  bo 
hung,  w^ould  not  say  it  when  they  came  out.  They  heard 
his  words  read ;  they  saw  the  earnest  faces  of  the  con- 
gregation ;  and  perhaps  they  joined  at  last  in  singing  the 
hymn  in  his  praise. 

The  order  of  instructors  was  reversed.  I  heard  that 
one  preacher,  who  at  first  was  shocked  and  stood  aloof, 
felt  obliged  at  last,  after  he  was  hung,  to  make  him  the 
subject  of  a  sermon,  in  which,  to  some  extent,  he  eulo- 
gized the  man,  but  said  that  his  act  was  a  failure.  An 
influential  class-teacher  thought  it  necessary,  after  the 
services,  to  tell  his  grown-up  pupils,  that  at  first  ho 
thought  as  the  preacher  did  then,  but  now  he  thought 
that  John  Brov.n  was  right.  But  it  was  understood  that 
his  pupils  were  as  much  ahead  of  the  teacher  as  he  was 
ahead  of  the  priest ;  and  I  know  for  a  certainty,  that 
very  little  boys  at  home  had  already  asked  their  parents, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise,  why  God  did  not  interfere  to  save 
him.  In  each  case,  the  constituted  teachei-s  were  only 
half  conscious  that  they  were  not  lending^  but  being 
dragged,  with  some  loss  of  time  and  {)0wer. 

The  more  conscientious  preachers,  the  Bible  men,  they 
who  talk  about  principle,  and  doing  to  others  as  you 
wouhl  that  they  should  do  unto  you,  —  how  could  tlicy 
fail   to  recognize  him,  by  far  the  greatest  preacher  (»f 


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280 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOHN  BROWN. 


them  all,  with  the  Bible  in  his  life  and  in  his  acts,  the 
embodiment  of  principle,  who  actually  carried  out  the 
golden  rule  ?  All  whose  moral  sense  had  been  aroused, 
who  had  a  calling  from  on  higli  to  preach,  sided  with  him. 
What  confessions  he  extracted  from  the  cold  and  con- 
servative !  It  is  remarkable,  but  on  the  whole  it  is  well, 
that  it  did  not  prove  the  occasion  for  a  new  sect  of 
Broivnites  being  formed  in  our  midst. 

They,  whether  within  the  Church  or  out  of  it,  who 
adhere  to  the  spirit  and  let  go  tlie  letter,  and  are  accord- 
ingly called  infidel,  were  as  usual  foremost  to  recognize 
him.  Men  have  been  huns  in  the  South  before  for 
attempting  to  rescue  slaves,  and  the  North  was  not 
much  stirred  by  it.  "Whence,  then,  this  wonderful  dif- 
ference? We  were  not  so  sure  of  their  devotion  to 
principle.  We  made  a  subtle  distinction,  forgot  human 
laws,  and  did  homage  to  an  idea.  The  North,  I  mean 
the  living  North,  was  suddenly  all  transcendental.  It 
went  behind  the  human  law,  it  went  behind  the  apparent 
failure,  and  recognized  eternal  justice  and  glory.  Com- 
monly, men  live  according  to  a  formula,  and  are  satisfied 
if  the  order  of  law  is  observed,  but  in  this  instance  they, 
to  some  extent,  returned  to  original  perceptions,  and 
there  was  a  slight  revival  of  old  religion.  They  saw  that 
what  was  called  order  was  confusion,  what  was  called 
justice,  injustice,  and  that  the  best  was  deemed  the 
worst.  This  attitude  suggested  a  more  intelligent  and 
generous  spirit  than  that  which  actuated  our  forefathers, 
and  the  possibility,  in  the  course  of  ages,  of  a  revolution 
in  behalf  of  another  and  an  oppressed  people. 

Most  Northern  men,  and  a  few  Southern  ones,  were 
wonderfully  stirred  by  Brown's  behavior  and  words. 
They  saw  and  felt  that  they  were  heroic  and  noble,  and 


THE  LAST   DAYS   OF  JOHN  BROWN. 


281 


that  there  had  been  uothnig  quite  equal  to  thrra  in  their 
kind  in  this  country,  or  in  the  recent  history  of  the 
world.  But  the  minority  were  unmoved  by  them. 
They  were  only  surprised  and  provoked  by  the  attitude 
of  their  neighbors.  They  saw  tiiat  lirown  was  brave, 
and  that  he  believed  that  he  had  done  right,  but  they 
did  not  detect  any  further  peculiarity  in  him.  Not 
being  accustomed  to  make  fine  distinctions,  or  to  appre- 
ciate magnanimity,  they  read  his  letters  and  speeches  as 
if  they  read  them  not.  They  were  not  aware  when 
they  approached  a  heroic  statement,  —  they  did  not 
know  when  they  hiirned.  They  did  not  feel  that  he 
spoke  with  authority,  and  lience  they  only  remembered 
that  the  law  must  be  executed.  They  remembered  the 
old  formula,  but  did  not  hear  the  new  revelation.  The 
man  who  does  not  recognize  in  Brown's  words  a  wisdom 
and  nobleness,  and  therefore  an  authority,  superior  to  our 
laws,  is  a  modern  Democrat.  This  is  the  test  by  which 
to  discover  him.  lie  is  not  wilfully  but  constitutionally 
blind  on  this  side,  and  he  is  consistent  with  himself. 
Such  has  been  his  past  life ;  no  doubt  of  it.  In  like 
manner  he  has  read  history  and  his  Bible,  and  he  ac- 
cepts, or  seems  to  accept,  the  last  only  as  an  estabUshed 
formula,  and  not  because  he  has  been  convicted  by  it. 
You  will  not  find  kindred  sentiments  in  his  common- 
place book,  if  he  has  one. 

When  a  noble  deed  is  done,  who  is  likely  to  appre- 
ciate it?  They  who  are  noble  themselves.  I  was  not 
surprised  that  certain  of  my  neighbors  Sj)oke  of  John 
Brown  as  an  ordinary  felon,  for  who  are  they  ?  Tiiey 
have  either  much  flesh,  or  much  oflice,  or  much  coarse- 
ness of  some  kind.  They  are  not  ethereal  natures  ia 
any  sense.     The  dark   qualities  predominate  in   them. 


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282 


TIIE"  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOHN  BPwOWN. 


It- 


Several  of  them  are  decidedly  pachydermatous.  I  say 
it  in  sorrow,  not  in  anger.  IIovv  can  a  man  behold  the 
light,  who  has  no  answering  inward  light?  They  are 
true  to  their  right,  but  wlien  tliey  look  this  way  tliey  see 
nothing,  they  are  blind.  P"'or  the  children  of  the  light 
to  contend  with  them  is  as  if  there  should  be  a  contest 
between  eagles  and  owls.  Show  me  a  man  who  feels 
bitterly  toward  John  Brown,  and  let  me  hear  what  noble 
verse  he  can  repeat.  lie  '11  be  as  dumb  as  if  his  lips 
were  stone. 

It  is  not  every  man  who  can  be  a  Christian,  even  in 
a  very  moderate  sense,  whatever  education  you  give 
him.  It  is  a  matter  of  constitution  and  temperament, 
after  alL  He  may  have  to  be  born  again  many  times. 
I  have  known  many  a  man  who  pretended  to  be  a 
Christian,  in  whom  it  was  ridiculous,  for  he  had  no 
genius  for  it.  It  is  not  every  man  who  can  be  a  free- 
man, even. 

Editors  persevered  for  a  good  while  in  saying  that 
Brown  was  crazy ;  but  at  last  they  said  only  that  it  was 
"  a  crazy  scheme,"  and  the  only  evidence  brought  to  prove 
it  was  that  it  cost  him  his  life.  I  have  no  doubt  that  if 
he  had  gone  with  five  thousand  men,  liberated  a  thou- 
sand slaves,  killed  a  hundred  or  two  slaveholders,  and 
had  as  many  more  killed  on  his  own  side,  but  not  lost 
his  own  life,  these  same  editors  would  have  called  it  by 
a  more  respectable  name.  Yet  he  has  been  far  more 
successful  than  that.  He  has  liberated  many  thousands 
of  slaves,  both  North  and  South.  They  seem  to  have 
known  nothing  about  living  or  dying  for  a  principle. 
They  all  ciilled  him  crazy  then ;  who  calls  him  crazy 
now? 

All  through  the  excitement  occasioned  by  his  remark- 


THE   LAST  DAYS   OF  JOHN  BROWN. 


283 


ay 

[he 
lire 
{see 

[ht 
lest 
lels 

)le 


able  attempt  and  subsequent  beliavior,  the  IMassaehusetts 
Legislature,  not  taking  any  steps  for  the  (let'ence  of  her 
citizens  who  were  likely  to  be  carried  to  Virginia  as  wit- 
nesses and  exposed  to  the  violence  of  a  slaveholding  mob, 
was  wholly  absorbed  in  a  liquor-agency  question,  and  in- 
dulging in  poor  jokes  on  the  word  "  extension."  Bad 
spirits  occupied  their  thoughts.  I  am  sure  that  no  states- 
man up  to  the  occasion  could  have  attended  to  that  ques- 
tion at  all  at  that  time,  —  a  very  vulgar  question  to  at- 
tend to  at  any  time  ! 

When  I  looked  into  a  liturgy  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, printed  near  the  end  of  the  last  century,  in  order 
to  find  a  servi(ie  applicable  to  the  case  of  Brown,  I  found 
that  tlie  only  martyr  recognized  and  provided  for  by  it 
was  King  Charles  the  First,  an  eminent  scamp.  Of  all 
the  inhabitants  of  England  and  of  the  world,  he  was  the 
only  one,  according  to  this  authority,  whom  that  church 
had  made  a  martyr  and  saint  of;  and  for  more  than  a 
century  it  had  celebrated  his  martyrdom,  so  called,  by 
an  annual  service.  "What  a  satire  on  the  Church  is 
that ! 

Look  not  to  legislatures  and  churches  for  your  guid- 
ance, nor  to  any  soulless  incorporated  bodies,  but  to  in- 
sjiir^'^fd  or  inspired  ones. 

\Vi  at  avail  all  your  scholarly  accomplishments  and 
learning,  compared  with  wisdom  and  manhood  ?  To 
omit  his  other  behavior,  see  what  a  work  this  comparative- 
ly unread  and  unlettered  man  wrote  within  six  weeks. 
"Where  is  our  professor  of  belles-lettres  or  of  logic  and 
rhetoric,  who  can  write  so  well  ?  He  wrote  in  prison, 
not  a  History  of  the  World,  like  Raleigh,  but  an  Ameri- 
can book  which  I  think  will  live  longer  than  that.  I  do 
not  know  of  such  words,  uttered  under  such  circum- 


|i^.-i'( 


f 

K  X 
W    < 

I  1 


f:i 


284 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOHN  DROWN. 


stances,  and  so  copiously  withal,  in  Roman  or  Eugliah  or 
any  history.  AVhat  a  variety  of  themes  he  touched  on 
in  that  short  space!  There  arc  words  in  that  letter  to 
Lis  wife,  respecting  the  education  of  his  daughters,  which 
deserve  to  be  framed  and  hung  over  every  mantel-})iecG 
in  the  land.  Compare  this  earnest  wisdom  with  that  of 
Poor  Richard. 

The  death  of  Irving,  which  at  any  other  time  would 
have  attracted  universal  attention,  having  occurred  while 
these  things  were  transpiring,  went  almost  unobserved. 
I  shall  have  to  read  of  it  in  the  biography  of  authors. 

Literary  gentlemen,  editors,  and  critics,  think  that  they 
know  how  to  write,  because  they  have  studied  grammar 
and  rhetoric  ;  but  they  are  egregiously  mistaken.  The 
art  of  composition  is  as  simple  as  the  discharge  of  a  bul- 
let from  a  rifle,  and  its  masterpieces  imply  an  infinitely 
greater  force  behind  them.  This  unlettered  man's  speak- 
ing and  writing  are  standard  English.  Some  words  and 
I)hrases  deemed  vulgarisms  and  Americanisms  before,  he 
has  made  standard  American  ;  such  as  "  It  loill  pciyT  It 
suggests  that  the  one  great  rule  of  composition,  —  and  if 
I  were  a  professor  of  rhetoric  I  should  insist  on  this,  — 
is,  to  speak  the  truth.  This  first,  this  second,  this  third ; 
pebbles  in  your  mouth  or  not.  This  demands  earnest- 
ness and  manhood  chiefly. 

AVe  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  the  expression,  a  lib- 
eral  education,  originally  meant  among  the  Romans  one 
worthy  o^  free  men;  while  the  learning  of  trades  and 
professions  by  which  to  get  your  livelihood  merely  was 
considered  worthy  of  slaves  only.  But  taking  a  hint 
from  the  word,  I  would  go  a  step  further,  and  say,  that 
it  is  not  the  man  of  wealth  and  leisure  simply,  though 
devoted  to  art,  or  science,  or  literature,  who,  in  a  true 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOHN  BROWN. 


285 


sense,  is  liheralhj  educated,  but  only  the  earnest  andyVee 
man.  lu  a  slaveholding  country  like  this,  there  can  be 
no  such  thing  as  a  liberal  education  tolerated  by  the 
State ;  and  those  scholars  of  Austria  and  France  who, 
however  learned  they  may  be,  are  contented  under  their 
tyrannies,  have  received  only  a  servile  education. 

Nothing  could  his  enemies  do,  but  it  redounded  to  his 
infinite  advantage, — that  is,  to  the  advantage  of  his 
cause.  They  did  not  hang  him  at  once,  but  reserved 
him  to  preach  to  them.  And  then  there  was  another 
great  blunder.  They  did  not  hang  his  four  followers 
with  him  ;  that  scene  was  still  postponed  ;  and  so  his 
victory  was  prolonged  and  completed.  No  theatrical 
manager  could  have  arranged  things  so  wisely  to  give 
effect  to  his  behavior  and  words.  And  who,  think  you, 
ivas  the  manager  ?  Who  placed  the  slave-woman  and 
her  child,  whom  he  stooped  to  kiss  for  a  symbol,  between 
his  prison  and  the  gallows  ? 

We  soon  saw,  as  he  saw,  that  he  was  not  to  be  par- 
doned or  rescued  by  men.  That  would  have  been  to  dis- 
arm him,  to  restore  to  him  a  material  weapon,  a  Sharpe's 
rifle,  when  he  had  taken  up  the  sword  of  the  spirit,  —  the 
sword  with  which  he  has  really  won  his  greatest  and 
most  memorable  victories.  Now  he  has  not  laid  aside 
the  sword  of  the  spirit,  for  he  is  pure  spirit  himself,  and 
his  sword  is  pure  spirit  also. 

"  He  notliinjT  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 
Nor  called  the  gods  with  vulgar  spite, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right ; 
But  bowed  his  comely  head 
Down  as  upon  a  bed." 

What  a  transit  was  that  of  his  horizontal  body  alone, 
but  judt  cut  down  from  the  gallows-tree  !     We  read,  that 


i    i 


28G 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  JOHN  BROWN. 


^.'? 


at  such  a  time  it  passed  through  Phihidelpliia,  and  by 
Saturday  night  liad  reached  New  York.  Thu.^,  like  a 
meteor  it  shot  through  the  Union  from  the  Southern  re- 
gions toward  the  North  !  No  such  freight  had  the  cars 
borne  since  they  carried  him  Southward  alive. 

On  the  day  of  his  translation,  I  heard,  to  be  sure,  that 
he  was  huna,  but  I  did  not  know  what  that  meant ;  I 
felt  no  sorrow  on  that  account ;  but  not  for  a  day  or  two 
did  I  even  /tear  that  he  was  dead,  and  not  after  any  num- 
ber of  days  shall  I  believe  it.  Of  all  the  men  who  were 
said  to  be  my  contemporaries,  it  seemed  to  me  that  John 
Brown  was  the  only  one  who  had  not  died.  I  never 
hear  of  a  man  named  Brown  now,  —  and  I  hear  of  them 
pretty  often,  —  I  never  hear  of  any  particularly  brave 
and  earnest  man,  but  my  first  thought  is  of  John  Brown, 
and  what  relation  he  may  be  to  him.  I  meet  him  at 
every  turn.  He  is  more  alive  than  ever  he  was.  He 
has  earned  immortality.  He  is  not  confined  to  North 
Elba  nor  to  Kansas.  He  is  no  longer  working  in  secret. 
He  works  in  public,  and  in  the  clearest  light  that 
shines  on  this  land. 


Mi 


.< 


'yi 


THE   END. 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Cc. 


md  by- 
like  a 
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le  cars 

re,  that 
ant ;  I 
or  two 
y  uum- 
o  were 
it  John 

never 
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brave 
Brown, 
him  at 
3.     He 

North 
secret, 
it   that 


c. 


